


Settlement (Breached Boundaries #5)

by Dusk Peterson (duskpeterson)



Series: The Three Lands [17]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Bards, Character(s) of Color, Cousins, Emperors, Empires - Freeform, Eunuchs, F/M, Family, Fantasy, Female Character of Color, Female Friendship, Female Protagonist, Friendship, Gen, Goddesses, Gods, Guards, Het, Internalized Transphobia, Lords, Male Character of Color, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, Music, Nonbinary Character(s), Older Character, Original Fiction, Original Het, Original Trans Character(s) - Freeform, POV Character of Color, Princes, Princesses, Rape Recovery, Recovery, Romance, Rulers, Soldiers, Spies, Stuttering, Trans, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Transgender, War, abuse recovery, ambassadors, clerks, don't need to read other stories in the series, gen - Freeform, ladies, male-to-nonbinary-to-male character, mtf, original gen, scribes, slavefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26733754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskpeterson/pseuds/Dusk%20Peterson
Summary: "It would have taken a more imaginative singer than I to envision walking up to a man like this and introducing ourselves. In silent agreement, we turned and fled through the first open door."In the north lies separation and snow and far too many revelations.Serva has lived her life as a slave, a princess in name only. Because she is the bastard daughter of the King of Daxis, her cousin the heir seeks to capture her.None of this has prepared her for the moment when she must enter the Emorian palace and introduce herself to the ruler of an empire. Accompanied by a escort who is even shyer than she is, Serva must somehow find the courage to face the Chara and beg refuge from him.Then she must find the courage to face herself.Boilerplate warning for all my stories.
Relationships: Original Female Character & Original Female Character, Original Female Character & Original Male Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character & Original Male Character
Series: The Three Lands [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/15107
Kudos: 1
Collections: A Whisper to the  Dark Side, Badass women centric stories, Chains: The Powerfic Archive, Female Characters Deserve Better, Focus on Female Characters, Slavefic Central, Women being awesome





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _**Author's note:** This is the fifth story in _Breached Boundaries _, a volume in the Three Lands series. You don't need to read the other stories in the series to understand this one._

( _Melody:_ Resolves the musical theme. _Lyrics:_ Settle the battle.)  


**TESTIMONY OF QUENTIN-GRIFFITH, LIEUTENANT OF THE BORDER MOUNTAIN PATROL**

To Brian son of Cossus, Royal Clerk to the Chara of Emor: 

Your message from yesterday is timely, as I have written a letter to my father this morning which pertains to your questions concerning the current war and Lord Andrew's part in it. I have enclosed a copy. You will forgive me, I hope, for sending a letter that is of so personal and, dare I say, emotional a nature. No doubt by tomorrow I will regret sending this off. This morning, my only regret is that I did not awaken to the truth sooner. 

In short, I have had an encounter with Lord Andrew. I used to laugh at the tales of his powers. I suppose many a dead man did. 

Quentin-Griffith, Lieutenant  


To Quentin, Lieutenant of the Border Mountain Patrol (Retired): 

Father, 

I received your letter from last week. It is written in Mother's hand, which I take to be an ominous sign. I hope that you can hold out until the first snows, as I wish to speak to you face-to-face. However, in case that meeting cannot occur, I am sending this to you now. 

First, to answer your enquiry: I have learned no more news regarding the war between our southern neighbors. The last I heard, Koretia and Daxis were continuing to debate a peace settlement, but the Jackal and Prince Richard had not yet reached agreement. Something to do with a woman whom the Prince of Daxis wants placed in his custody. I hope he won't become as tiresome as his late father was concerning bedding matters. 

Regarding Lord Andrew I can give you news. (Have you ever met him? I would advise against it.) That sly man slipped into the patrol points yesterday, bold as his blood brother the Jackal – though this time, I am happy to say, the patrol caught him. It wasn't entirely clear at first whether Lord Andrew was there to help Emor, harm Emor, or simply be the usual annoyance he is to the patrol. He is a man without loyalties to any land, as he shamelessly brags. Those types are always trouble. And of course he's as superstitious as any other man born in Koretia: believes in the existence of gods, believes his ruler the Jackal is a god-man, and so forth. That has always made it impossible to talk sensibly with him. 

This time, he brought with him one of the Jackal's spies: a young man by the name of Perry. I don't suppose you ever met Perry; he would have been barely born when last you were in Koretia. I hear that the Jackal picked him up like a stray pup when Perry was a boy, and that the two have been the closest of companions ever since then. I can't help but wonder what Lord Andrew thinks of that. 

At any rate, Lord Andrew didn't appear ready to murder the lad, so I wasn't forced to intervene. Lord Andrew had a Daxion slave-girl with him as well; I'm not sure what that was all about. But he was eager to bring them both into Emor, though he lacked the proper credentials for them to cross the border. Of course I would not let the two of them pass. 

I expected him to abandon them on the spot – he's on some sort of ambassadorial mission for the Jackal, apparently – but instead he became insistent. He claimed that he was doing "the gods' work" and that he could prove it, if I would just watch a religious ceremony he had planned. 

I hope you will not think less of me if I say I took the lure. I know that you have warned me in the past about him. Everyone has, I'm sorry to say. But I was rather bored, for we've had no border-breachers to chase for the past two days. And I didn't expect— 

Well, what did I expect, I wonder? You and I have spoken on this matter for so many hours of my life. I'll confess it had reached the point recently where I was beginning to wonder whether your mind was growing soft in your old age. Of course, Mother insists that all those tales you've told of what spiritual matters happened to you in Koretia were true, but I've long thought she was simply trying to cover up for you. It's rather embarrassing, having a father who claims to have met a god. 

But now I have too. 

I'm not sure I can describe what happened during that ceremony. Words fail me. All I can say is that Lord Andrew has greater potentialities than I had thought. The entire world has greater potentialities than I had thought. 

If I were to pray to them, would the gods listen to me, do you think? 

You see why I so badly need to meet with you. Please do try to hold out, dear Father, until I have a chance to come home to speak with you and seek your guidance. 

As for the war, it would be over in an instant if the Prince of Daxis would only agree to meet with Lord Andrew. He's a fool, like I was. 

Your for-once humble son,  
Quentin-Griffith  


**CHAPTER ONE**

The Chara's trumpets were announcing the dawn when Perry and I arrived at the foot of the palace steps the next morning and gazed upwards with our mouths open. 

Nothing I had heard about Emor had prepared me for the close sight of the Chara's palace – larger, it seemed, than the entire capital of Koretia, and built of an elegant white marble that made the Daxion palace appear rustic. It was well guarded too. We had already made our way past soldiers at the city wall, the outer palace wall, the inner palace wall, and were now facing our final challenge, the half dozen guards at the palace entrance. It was clear from the hostile looks of the soldiers we had encountered that nothing less than the Jackal's badge could have allowed two dark-skinned strangers such as ourselves up to this point. I could only hope that the guards at the palace would also accept our credentials, instead of deciding, as Lieutenant Quentin-Griffith had, that we had no right to the badge's protection. 

"At least the dungeon cells here are likely to be spacious," I murmured. 

Perry looked my way, but he did not smile. His harp case was pressed hard against his side. Although we had made the final stretch of the journey by darkness, I could see that he was becoming more and more miserable every moment that we came closer to meeting the Emorians whom he feared so much. I covered my own fear and gave him a reassuring smile. Then, as though I were used to monuments such as this, I began climbing the three dozen marble steps that led to the palace entrance. 

The entrance was surprisingly narrow for such a large building; I realized that this must be in order to allow the soldiers to guard against intruders. As we reached the top of the steps, the two guards flanking the doorway lowered their spears so that their lances formed an X in the open doorway. Other than that, the guards did not move from their rigid position of staring outwards toward the city below. 

After exchanging glances with Perry, I went up to the guard at the right of the doorway. He did not move his eyes to look at me, but I was willing to guess that he would move quickly enough if I tried to pass the sharp-arrowed spears. Trying to remember the Emorian I had been practicing with Perry and Andrew during the trip, I cleared my throat with a nervous cough and said, with absurd simplicity, "We're here to see the Chara." 

The guard continued to look straight ahead, though I thought – perhaps it was my imagination – that a look of amusement flickered over his face. Feeling suddenly very childish, I held up the royal badge, saying, "We have the Jack—" 

My words were cut off by the thud of the spears pounding to the ground as the soldiers lifted them clear of the doorway. I looked uncertainly at the soldier's expressionless face, decided I knew in which land Andrew had learned his unreadable expression, and walked past the guards, followed by Perry. 

The short corridor running left to right of us had a familiar look to it. After a moment, I realized that the corridor reminded me of the Jackal's palace, also built by the Emorians. Directly in front of us were two gold-plated doors, reaching to the height of four men. On both of them were carved what I recognized, from Andrew's long-ago description, as the Emorian royal emblem: the Balance of Judgment holding the Sword of Vengeance and the Heart of Mercy. I made an inarticulate noise of awe. 

It must have sounded like a question. "The Court of Judgment," Perry whispered to me, but he spoke no further because at that moment someone rounded the corner into our corridor and began walking toward us. 

Perry stiffened beside me. I quickly walked forward, saying, "Excuse me. We're strangers here, and we don't know—" 

I stopped. The man had glanced at us and then had ignored me, walking past me toward someone who was coming down the opposite end of the corridor. Perry had already noticed the man and had begun to tremble; it appeared that this was someone he recognized and feared. 

The man had hair shining silver like a well-burnished blade, and his coloring was matched by the silver and gold tunic he wore. Clipped to his belt was a sword in a leather sheath that was impressive, not for its splendor of appearance, but because the sheath's rough edges showed that the blade had been put to use on more than one occasion. His body was sternly erect, and he looked at the man who had passed by us with all the friendliness of a soldier meeting his enemy in battle. Though his eyes were full of fire, his voice was so soft that I could barely hear it. This combination seemed to me peculiarly terrifying. 

I caught only snatches of what he was saying; he addressed the other man as "Lord Neville" and was saying something about the Emorian council. Then the council lord whom he was addressing gave a low bow, and the man started walking in our direction. 

Well, I thought, we were here to see the Chara, and this was our chance. But it would have taken a more imaginative singer than I to envision walking up to a man like this and introducing ourselves without preliminary. Perry too was beginning to step backwards. In silent agreement, we turned and fled through the first open door. 

This door was immediately to the left of the palace entrance. Once inside and safely beyond the sight of the Chara, we stopped, and I tried to still my heartbeat by concentrating on the scene before us. By great luck, we had fled into a chamber that was empty of people. The chamber had a familiar look to it. Directly in the center of the room was a sturdy, granite altar with a hooked line above it holding the mask of the Unknowable God; on a wall nearby were hanging the other Koretian god-masks, as well as a variety of symbols I did not recognize. Perry, like a bee pulled straight to its nectar, headed immediately for the corner of the room and picked up a small item on the table there. It was a plectrum. 

"How odd," I said. "I thought that Emorians didn't worship the gods." 

Turning his head toward me, Perry opened his mouth to reply. All that came out was a choke, and his body went rigid. I turned round and saw standing by the doorway an Emorian several years younger than ourselves. He had a plain face, one that was almost babyish in its chubby features, and he was passing his tongue over his lips. Staring at us hesitantly beneath sandy-colored eyebrows, he said, "Excuse me f-for interrupting. Was that Daxion I heard you s-speaking?" 

He spoke to us – stammered to us, rather – in Daxion that was heavily accented but comprehendible. This diffident greeting reassured me completely, so I replied in my own badly-fractured Emorian, "Yes, though we have come from Koretia. I am Serva and this is Perry, who is a friend of the Jackal. We have come bearing a message to the Chara from the Jackal, but we're lost. We can't find anyone to tell us where we should go, now that we're in the palace." 

The Emorian immediately faced Perry and touched his heart and forehead in the free-man's greeting. He looked back toward me and hesitated; I realized that, for the first time in many months, someone was trying to assess my rank. I gave him no help, since I was still uncertain as to where my rank actually lay. He must have decided to venture the chance, for he ended up greeting me in the same manner as he had welcomed Perry and said, "My name is Brian; I am the Chara's c-clerk. I fear I know very little about the rules of palace guest protocol, but I will be g-glad to help you in whatever way I can." 

I exchanged an uneasy glance with Perry, thankful now that I had not been so bold as to claim equality with this Emorian. In Daxis, at least, the royal clerk was the highest-ranked royal official. From what Andrew had told me, to pretend to a high rank in Emor was as dangerous as trying to assassinate the Chara. Wondering to myself whether even acting as a free-woman would be too brazen a claim, I lowered my eyes and said in a low, humble voice I had not used since the previous spring, "I am honored that you would trouble yourself to assist us." 

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Perry staring open-mouthed at me; he had never heard me speak with such deference. Brian, with that lightning-quick power that high officials acquire in making decisions, looked from Perry to me and said, "The honor is mine, to serve as host to Perry, of whom we have heard so much. And of course his t-travelling companion is equally welcome." 

I hesitantly looked up. The steady manner in which Brian met my gaze told me that my rank had been determined, at least provisionally. Gratefully, I said, "It is a relief to find someone who can give us direction." 

"I am afraid that your arrival at the palace so early in the morning is what caused your difficulty," said Brian. "Ordinarily, there would be a porter at the door who would ask your business. From there, I believe that you would go to our Koretian liaison, who would greet you in the name of the Chara, and then you would sign the palace guests' roll at my quarters. After that, you would go to the palace slave-keeper—" 

Perry's knuckles were beginning to turn moon-white as he gripped his harp case harder. I said swiftly, "Is it possible to bypass any of these steps? We've had a long journey, and I think we'd both collapse before we saw the Chara if we had to go through all that." 

Brian gave a smile so faint as to suggest he did not wish to offend us with his amusement. "Emorian ceremony does tend to tire foreign visitors. To witness the truth, I think the only procedure that is really necessary is for you to see the palace slave-keeper. Obed's duties are wider than his title suggests: he not only supervises the palace slave-servants but also assigns the rooms for the palace guests. I can take you there now if you like. He is one of the few people likely to be up at this hour." 

Perry turned without a word and went back to the table in the corner, carefully replacing the plectrum he had been holding all this while. To cover his silence, I asked, "Do many Emorians worship in this place?" 

"That depends on how you define the word Emorian," Brian said, his gaze following Perry's movements. "Quite a few people from the empire's northern dominions come here; many Marcadians and Arpeshians still believe in the existence of gods, as you may know. Sometimes palace guests from the barbarian nations like to visit here. But mainly this place exists for the sake of the palace servants who were born in Koretia or Daxis. The Chara had this sanctuary created last spring on the advice of the Koretian Ambassador." 

The last words cut through me like the dying note of a tragic song. I had succeeded until this point in keeping Andrew from my thoughts. Now I fell as silent as Perry while we followed Brian out the door and into the corridor where we had started our journey. Perry was watching Brian carefully as the clerk explained the function of the rooms we passed. We travelled left, then a short jog to the right, then left once more, before finding ourselves in a corridor whose end was hidden in the mist of torch-smoke before us. 

The smoke was touched by the sunlight beginning to stream through the tiny windows high above us. Beyond them, nearly as high as the court doors, soared the corridor ceiling, twinkling with color from its mosaic tiles. These were set in neat, symmetrical patterns, except at one point where the pattern suddenly broke in order to form the royal seal. Looking down again, I saw that we were passing a door flanked by two soldiers. Brian was already speaking about the next chamber we were approaching, but I felt no need to ask him what lay behind the guarded doors. 

"These are the slave-quarters." Brian's voice cut through my thoughts, and I looked over at the iron doorway which we were passing. "The slaves used to be locked in during the night, but the Chara James put an end to that practice. He pointed out that locking the doors hadn't stopped palace slaves from trying to escape before and that it only gave the guards a false sense of security. I believe that he made the decision simply to prevent the Koretian Ambassador and our High Lord from cutting each other's throats, as they had a rousing argument on the subject a few years ago. —Here we are." 

Brian stopped before an open doorway next to the slave-quarters. Perry, his head bowed, followed the wave of Brian's hand; then he suddenly stiffened as he walked through the door. I entered behind him, and for once I found myself sharing Perry's apprehensions. 

Brian closed the door behind the three of us. "Ah, Obed, I thought that we would f-find you here. You're as early a riser as the Chara." 

"Brian my dear, how else can I find out what my slaves are up to except to arrive at an hour when they are slipping out of the quarters where they have been spending the night? The cut boys, of course, are free to do as they wish, as long as it is their own masters they are sleeping with, but pregnant slave-girls _do_ cause such problems. You would think that they would be willing to take a little friendly advice from an old girl like me." 

Obed smiled amiably at the three of us as he spoke these words. His appearance was remarkable: he must have been close to seventy years of age, yet he was wearing a magenta-colored tunic cut back so far that he might have been a youth exposing the beauty of his body. In Obed's case, there was a great deal of flesh to expose, for he was quite fat, and the only thing he had troubled himself to hide was his legs: oddly enough, his tunic sloped down as far as a woman's robe. He was gaudy with as much jewelry as a harlot, and the chamber in which he stood was filled with many delicate decorations, all in very bad taste. As I came closer to him, I realized with shock that he was wearing the rose scents such as are worn by noblewomen. 

Brian was saying, "Here are two guests for the Chara: the J-jackal's friend Perry and his travelling companion Serva. Do we have any rooms available for them?" 

"Well, let me see . . ." Obed walked over to a writing-desk nearby, his hips swaying in an exaggerated manner as he did so. He opened a book lying on the table; after perusing it for a moment, he said, "We are very full up at the moment, as always, but I _think_ that I can squeeze them in somewhere. Would you like one chamber or two?" He looked up at Perry and me expectantly. 

It took me a moment to realize what he was asking. Then I felt my face grow warm as I asked, "Do you have two chambers that are close together?" 

"Certainly." Obed's eyes were framed by lines of laughter; I could imagine how he was interpreting this. "I have some nice quarters near here – a sitting chamber and two sleeping chambers. One of the chambers is intended for a servant, but if you do not mind that . . ." His voice trailed off. I saw that, like Brian, he was attempting to ascertain my status. 

"That would be fine," I said flatly. I was beginning to tire of being placed in a narrow slot of rank. Even in Daxis I had never been assessed this often. 

"Oh, _good_." Obed pronounced the words with such enthusiasm that they were nearly a gush. "Now, I'll come by when you've settled in and explain to you about the palace routine. Do let me know if there's anything you need before then. Of course, I'll have a slave come by daily and clean your quarters—" 

"There's no need." My thoughts had been on Perry, who had been showing nervousness throughout this recital of how our privacy would be invaded. It was not until I spoke that I realized how my words might be taken. 

"Indeed?" Obed scanned me with his eyes, and I suddenly realized what it was that had caused both him and Brian to hesitate in their approach to me: the slave-tunic I had been wearing since I left Koretia. With a smile – and perhaps a little condescension? – Obed said, "Well, my dear, I'll leave it all to you, then. But if you need assistance with anything, please feel free to visit me at any time. If nothing else, I am always ready to drop my work and have a nice round of girlish gossip." 

I could not think of anything to reply to this and was therefore relieved as Brian took over the conversation and ascertained the details of where our quarters were. Perry was already edging toward the door; by the time that Brian led us out, he was starting to tremble again. Casting a glance his way, Brian said, "P-perhaps you'd like to wait in my quarters while I see whether the Chara is available. Since it's early, none of my scribes will have arrived there yet." 

"Thank you," I replied. I found myself looking back over my shoulder at the door to Obed's quarters as we made our way back up the corridor the way we had come. 

Brian said in a straightforward manner, "I suppose that, as a Daxion, you haven't met any eunuchs before." 

Comprehension came to me, not in the form of light, but as a small, cold fist hitting the base of my stomach. "None like that," I said shakily. 

Brian flicked his eyes over at me briefly, and then said, with the careful tact he had obviously learned in his work, "Since you've come from Koretia, perhaps you'll know whether the Jackal's blood brother has returned to that land. The Ch-chara has been anxious to speak with the Ambassador recently." 

I shook my head wordlessly. Brian did not press the matter. Instead, he stopped at a doorway opposite the guarded one we had passed before and pushed the door open. "I shouldn't be long," said the clerk, kindly changing his language to informal Daxion. "Go on in and try to ignore the clutter my young scribes leave at the end of each day. Being a clerk is rather like being a schoolmaster with a large number of pupils, only the p-pay is better." 

My smile was somewhat forced as Brian closed the door, leaving Perry and me standing in a dim passage, its only light coming through the doorways lining either side. Perry had already sought out the darkest corner and was pressed into it; only the right side of his face was exposed. After a minute, I asked, "Are you all right?" 

Perry turned back toward me and said softly, "I was just thinking of the slave-keeper." 

I slid my hands over my face till my fingers were covering my mouth. "So was I. Spirit of Merciful Peace, I never understood before. No wonder Andrew is ashamed of himself if he thinks that being a eunuch means being like that." 

Perry pulled himself out of the corner and peered tentatively into one of the rooms. I looked past him and saw a tiny cubicle, barely large enough for a single person, with a desk cluttered with papers and pens and inkwells. Withdrawing his head hastily, Perry said, "Andrew told me once that, whenever he met a woman in this palace and she learned that he was a eunuch, she knew what sort of creature he was. I didn't understand before what he meant by that." 

"And he lived here for how long? Fifteen years?" 

"Until he was twenty-three." 

"Well, then, it's a miracle that he's even willing to speak to any woman," I said flatly. "May the Spirit give me patience! First they mutilate him, and then they expect him to act in a manner that would be shameful in a woman. And when he tries to escape from this place, they beat him bloody for being so ungrateful as to want to leave here. What kind of brutal people are these Emorians?" 

I had been so caught up in my anger that I had not noticed Perry's warning signals. In the end, unable to speak and unable to touch me, Perry was obliged to draw my gaze to the corridor door by walking over and standing next to Brian. The clerk, who appeared well trained in selective deafness, acted as though he was not aware that I was there, but turned to Perry, saying, "The Chara wishes to see you." 

Perry's arm tightened around his harp case, his hands curled into fists, and his chin went up; he was breathing hard. Witnessing all this, Brian added quickly, "Actually, I don't think that he needs to speak to both of you. I have to stay here and look for a list that the Chara requires. I'd appreciate your company if you're willing to stay with me." 

Perry's left fist flattened out, and he placed the black palm against the wall beside him as he stared uncertainly at Brian. In a while, apparently choosing the lesser of two evils, he nodded. 

Brian looked at me for the first time. "Just go right into the Chara's quarters without knocking. He's expecting you." 

Leaving the two men headed down the passage toward the back of the clerk's quarters, I walked with stoic steadiness to the guard-flanked door. Neither of the guards looked at me as I approached. I paused uncertainly at the threshold, my heart tapping quick and hard like a carpenter tamping nails, and then opened the door. 

The Chara was standing in the midst of a room that was decorated with as much color and extravagance as the slave-keeper's quarters, but with considerably better taste. To the left, a shimmering golden curtain hid the entrance to another chamber, while directly ahead of me was a bookcase built of blackroot wood, which filled most of the back wall. I knew from what Andrew had told me that wooden furniture was quite valuable in the treeless land of Emor, and this floridly decorated bookcase had evidently just been installed, for I could see a few tools still lying on the ground in front of it. Also new was a half-finished stone carving over the fireplace that matched the mosaic on the ceiling corridor; the figures of the royal emblem were already chiselled, but they had not yet been painted. 

The Chara himself had just turned away to accept a cup from his young free-servant, who appeared to share his master's taste in clothes and was bedecked in a tunic so brightly vermillion that I found myself blinking, as though I had been staring at a fire. With no hesitation – for I wanted to get this dreadful moment over with as quickly as possible – I closed the door, walked over to the Chara, and knelt before him, bowing my head. 

There was a long pause. Then the man before me said in a sharp voice, "Gratifying though it is for me to encounter someone of your generation who understands the importance of respect, I think that you would make a better impression if you were to direct your obeisance toward the proper man." 

At the first sound of his voice, I had jerked my head up to look at the silver-haired man before me. Then, following his gaze, I looked over to my left. 

The younger man in the room, of about age twenty, had been returning the wine pitcher to its stand. As he turned around, I saw a grin on his face. In the next moment, the smile disappeared rapidly as though it had been crushed away by some powerful force. It was replaced by an expression that initially reminded me of Andrew's: it was very still and hard. Yet where Andrew's expression served to hide his thoughts, this expression spoke like a shout: I was being judged, pitilessly and thoroughly, as though I had been suddenly stripped of my clothes. If I had not already been on one knee, I would have sunk there upon encountering this look. 

Then, as quickly as it had come, the look was gone, and all that I saw before me was a young, chestnut-haired free-man, staring at me with an expression of puzzlement on his face. 

The older man, whom I had entirely forgotten, cleared his throat. "Was that necessary, Chara?" 

His voice was so hoarse that I looked at him in surprise. His face, which had been ruddy before, was now nearly as white as the marble stones of the palace. Based on the conversation I had eavesdropped upon at the Daxion palace during the previous spring, I would never have expected Emor's High Lord to look this way. 

"No," said the Chara James slowly as he continued to look at me. "No, I don't think that it was in fact necessary, Lord Carle." 

"Well, then, Chara, I would appreciate it if you would confine such displays to your times of judgment. You do not want to frighten away every guest who walks into this palace." 

Lord Carle's voice had turned sharp again. The Chara James looked over at him, and suddenly his grin was back. "Certainly, Lord Carle," he said serenely. "And please don't worry about the wine. I'll have Francis clean it up." 

I looked and saw that wine had indeed spilled from Lord Carle's cup onto the floor. Neatly avoiding the damp patch, the Chara James walked over and helped me to my feet, saying, "Don't worry, Princess. I am routinely mistaken for a council lord, a palace official, or, on one humiliating occasion, an overgrown page. And you needn't kneel or curtsy to me or Lord Carle, since you are a Daxion. I think that even my High Lord is willing to waive proper signs of respect in such a case, aren't you, Lord Carle?" 

Lord Carle replied shortly, "The law exempts foreigners from the obeisance, and I would not go against the law." 

The Chara James bit his lip, as though repressing an instinctive reply; this action made him look very young. His gesture, though, was steady and confident as he waved me into a chair. Lord Carle waited a moment until the Chara James was seated before joining us. The Chara James curled himself up against the end of a reclining couch and reached over to a table next to it, picking up a broken-sealed letter lying there. 

"Well, Princess," he said, "I received notice of your coming a short time ago from Lord Andrew." 

I was trying to figure out what to do with my hands – whether to place them on my lap, where they would call attention to my short tunic, or to place them awkwardly on the uncomfortable-looking armrests of my chair. I said, "He sent you a letter, Chara?" 

"He sent me a letter through my supposedly incorruptible private messenger; I thought it best not to enquire as to what methods Lord Andrew used to persuade Dunne to carry the missive. The Ambassador gave me a short explanation of your plight. You are certainly welcome to stay in my palace as long as you like. Our relations with Daxis are somewhat delicate at the moment, but Lord Carle and I are agreed that it would be politically to our advantage for us to give you refuge. One of the only factors that is preventing Koretia and Daxis from attacking each other is that I have announced that Emor will end its alliance with whichever land breaks the peace; even the Jackal does not care for the idea of fighting a war on two borders. So, since we are presently in a position of making threats, it is better for us to make as few concessions as possible to either of our southern neighbors, and this includes returning fugitives to the Prince." 

"I see," I said in a neutral voice. 

The Chara James flashed me a smile. "Also, you sound like a nice person from Lord Andrew's description, and I'd hate to see you come to any harm. Would you care for some wine, Princess?" 

Without a word, Lord Carle placed in my hands the cup that he had half-spilled and that he had not yet drunk from, then stood up and went over to the wine stand to pour another cup for himself. His posture was as stiff as a soldier's, and he reached for the pitcher with as much decisiveness as though he were a subcommander issuing orders. Forcing my gaze back to the younger man, who was waiting patiently for me to speak, I said, "Chara, I hope Lord Andrew explained that I'm not really a princess." 

"The Ambassador regards you as one," the Chara James replied, as though that settled the matter. "As I understand it, your rank in Daxis is part of the problem to be solved. For the purposes of Emorian law, we will assume you to be a noblewoman. Daxion law sounds to me as though it's rather difficult to interpret." 

Lord Carle said as he went to stand by the mantelpiece, "Interpreting the law in Daxis consists of listening to the impassioned croonings of a bard who probably couldn't recite the shortest law Justification if she had a week in which to memorize it." 

The Chara James paused from trying to brush away a bit of dirt from his clothes. "By my Sword, Lord Carle," he said, "was there _anything_ you liked about Daxis when you visited there?" 

Lord Carle cast a cool eye at the Chara James, who was still fingering his flame-red tunic. "Yes. King Leofwin was not at all ostentatious in how he chose to decorate his surroundings and himself." 

It was perhaps just as well that at this moment there was a knock on the door, followed by Brian's entrance. He was holding in his hand a piece of paper. His bow toward the Chara James was followed by a nervous look at Lord Carle. 

"You took your time," said the High Lord. "Did you decide to scribe a new copy so as to show off your handwriting to the Chara?" 

"Have a seat, Brian," said the Chara James, glaring at his council lord. "Did you have a problem finding the list?" 

"No, Ch-chara," said Brian, coming forward to take the chair furthest from Lord Carle. "I apologize for b-being so long. I asked P-perry to sing for me." 

The Chara James laughed. "I should have guessed." Turning to me, he explained, "Brian has been working on a book on the history of Daxion music – rather difficult to research here in Emor, but he has uncovered a surprising number of old papers on the subject in his documents room. He has also been inviting to the palace every passing bard. It's a bit hard on the rest of us, trying to do our work with all that noise in the background, but I suppose it improves our relations with Daxis. I hope that Perry will be able to stay for a few days and satisfy Brian's appetite for music." 

"He'll have to stay for longer, if you'll allow him," I said. "He doesn't have any way to get back home, Chara." 

"But—" The Chara James broke off, staring at me as I sipped the wine in my cup. It had a cool, delicate flavor, as placid and serene as the low-lying hills which Perry and I had travelled between that morning. The Chara's expression changed to comprehension, and he said quietly, "Of course he is welcome to stay as long as he wishes. We would be glad to have his company if the Jackal can spare him." 

Lord Carle jabbing at the fire with an iron. "Let us just hope that he does not model himself after a thief who stayed in this palace last spring." 

The Chara James was fanning himself with the letter, as though the renewed fire that made the room tolerably warm for me was stifling him. He gave Lord Carle a sharp look, but said nothing other than, "I doubt that we need fear that will happen again." 

"It will not happen again because you made clear to the Jackal that the next time you caught his Ambassador spying, you would consider it an act of war," growled Lord Carle. "I doubt that anything less than the Jackal's orders could stop Lord Andrew from gathering information in his usual unorthodox manner." 

The Chara James gave an easy smile. "It's your own fault for spending so much time recently in your country home. You ought to know better than to leave the palace when Lord Andrew is scheduled to visit; you're the only person who has ever been able to uncover his tricks. I don't know how we will handle the Ambassador when you retire next year." 

Lord Carle grunted and stabbed the fire all the harder, sending sparks fleeing up the chimney. The Chara James turned back to me, saying, "Do you know Lord Andrew well, Princess?" 

"Does anybody?" I asked. 

This provoked a laugh from Brian, who had been anxiously watching Lord Carle up to this point. Thus encouraged, I added, "I suppose that I will have a chance to understand him better now that I'm in Emor, since he spent so many years here." 

The Chara James said, "Well, if you wish to understand Lord Andrew better, my High Lord is the one you should consult. He has known the Ambassador longer than any of the rest of us. How long has that been, Lord Carle?" 

Lord Carle turned, thrashed the iron in a furious fashion against the floor, and said, without looking up, "The Ambassador arrived in Emor thirty years ago as of this month." 

The Chara James said something in reply, but my thoughts were on Lord Carle – on a remark he had once made to the Daxion council about Andrew, and a remark Andrew had once made to the Koretian council about Lord Carle. After another few moments of beating the iron clean, Lord Carle raised his gaze and met my eyes with a challenging look that gave as much information as his words. 

I pulled my gaze away hastily and tightened the hands laying in my lap. This, then, was the vicious slave-master who, to Andrew's friends, epitomized all that was worst about Emor. No doubt Emor's High Lord would indeed be able to explain much about Andrew to me, but I was not sure that I wanted to begin asking him the appropriate questions. 

I asked abruptly, "Do you have many slaves in the palace?" 

There was a pause. I looked up to see the High Lord glaring at me, the clerk looking shocked, and the Chara with his mouth still open in mid-sentence. Before I could worry about what I had done, the Chara James replied in a matter-of-fact way, "A fair number. The Jackal and I have had some discussions on that subject. I grew up in a village in the Central Provinces of Emor that was too small and poor to have any slaves, and so I still find slavery to be an odd institution. But despite the Jackal's advice on the subject, I can't see any way to abolish slavery in Emor without rewriting all of the law books – and I've tampered too much with the law in the past to want to risk putting Emor in danger that way again, particularly now that I am the embodiment of the law." 

I waited for him to explain further, and then said hesitantly, "The embodiment of the law?" 

The Chara James smiled. "Heart of Mercy, there's a lesson, if I ever needed one, in how little the people of the Three Lands know each other. No Emorian would need to have that phrase explained to him; I'm not even sure I can put the answer into words. Lord Carle, what _does_ it mean, that the Chara is the embodiment of the law?" 

"It means that you inherit the look of the Chara." Lord Carle had lowered his eyes and was concentrating on tracing invisible designs on the hearth rug with his iron point. 

"Yes." The Chara's voice went soft. He too lowered his eyes, staring down at the velvet cushions of the couch on which he sat. After a moment, he raised his eyes and said quietly, "You see, Princess, I am reluctant to make great changes in the law because I didn't grow up in the palace like all of the previous Charas. I arrived here only six months before my enthronement and have had to fight my way to the title through war. There are still many people who doubt that I have truly inherited the Chara's legacy. They think that is just a trick the council used to place one of its members on the throne. Many of my subjects feel I am unworthy of the title. Sometimes I wonder myself." He reached out to fiddle with a cushion tassel. 

"Lord Andrew has no doubts about your worthiness," Brian inserted swiftly. 

Lord Carle had been on the point of saying something. Now he thrust the iron into its rack beside the fire and said loudly, "I am sure it is a great relief to the Chara's mind to know that a foreign ambassador approves of his title. I was not aware that this fact was one which either the Chara's subjects or the people of other lands had the right to call into question." 

The Chara James was looking at his High Lord with a faint smile on his face. Suddenly dropping the High Lord's title, he said, "That reminds me, Carle; Andrew sent a letter to you as well. I forgot to give it to you before now." He reached into the side of his boot. Like a small boy uncovering a secreted code, he pulled out a letter and handed it to Lord Carle. 

"Thank you, Chara," said the High Lord, who was apparently not the sort of man to be so frivolous as to address his ruler informally. As he pulled open the letter, I caught a glimpse of the seal. It was in the shape of a blank god-mask. 

I could see no change in Lord Carle's expression as he read, but the Chara James was watching him closely and said, "Is there some trouble, Carle?" 

Without looking up from the letter, Lord Carle said, "It concerns Lieutenant Quentin, formerly of the border mountain patrol – the father of the present Lieutenant Quentin-Griffith. Lord Andrew has learned from his son that Lieutenant Quentin is in ill health and is unlikely to live beyond the end of the year." 

"I didn't realize that you were still in touch with any of your fellow patrol guards," said the Chara James. 

"The lieutenant and I have not spoken to each other for quite some time." Lord Carle's gaze was still directed toward the letter, though he had ceased reading it. "We had an argument many years ago over the issue of discipline." 

Brian suddenly spoke up, saying, "I w-would have thought, High Lord, that if anyone agreed with your views on d-discipline, it would be another mountain p-patrol guard." 

Lord Carle carefully refolded Andrew's letter. "Our argument concerned the manner in which I had chosen to discipline one of my new slave-servants." 

Silence followed. Finally the Chara James asked, "Would you like to take a few days away from your duties to visit Lieutenant Quentin, Carle?" 

"I think I must, if the Chara can spare me," replied Lord Carle. "The Ambassador recommends that I do so, and if I do not follow his advice, I am likely to wake up one night soon and discover his dagger against my throat." 

He stated this with such a serious expression that I found myself saying, "Surely you are jesting, High Lord." 

Lord Carle's cold gaze drifted over my way. "Have you seen the Ambassador when he has his blade unsheathed, Princess?" 

I discovered that my mouth had gone dry. I swallowed before saying, "Yes." 

"Then you know that I am not jesting." Lord Carle thrust the letter violently under his belt. "It is beyond my understanding how Lord Andrew has managed to obtain his reputation as the greatest peacemaker in the Three Lands." 

"Perhaps by such actions as bringing together estranged friends," said the Chara James mildly. "Well, before you go, Carle, I'd like us to discuss the foreign guest list for my enthronement." 

"For your _enthronement_?" I said. 

The Chara James laughed at my expression, saying, "I was privately enthroned by the council three days after the Chara Peter died. It had to be done quickly because I needed to take over command of the imperial armies in order to defend my title. The council thought it would be appropriate to celebrate our victory over the rebels by holding a public enthronement next summer." 

"That was before we discovered what a flamboyant spectacle you envisioned," grumbled Lord Carle. "Elaborate decorations for the throne, a gaudy new cloak for the Chara . . . I am expecting your next suggestion to be that we hire Koretian dagger-throwers to entertain the guests in between the vows." 

The Chara's smile disappeared, and for a minute he frowned at the High Lord. Then he looked back at me and said, "I was hoping that you could advise us on whether we have invited all the right people from Daxis and Koretia. Would you mind looking at the list?" 

I ignored the paper in Brian's outstretched hand. "I'm afraid that I can't read, Chara." 

Looking uncertain, the Chara James stared up at Lord Carle. "The slaves in this palace _can_ read, can't they, Carle? Or am I even more ignorant of the subject than I thought?" 

"It depends on the background of the slave," said Lord Carle. "Lord Andrew arrived at this palace able to read Koretian, Daxion, Emorian, and even ancient Emorian – but he was not a typical slave in any respect. Slaves who come from Daxis are generally not taught to read. The Princess is better educated than most in being able to sign her name." 

I looked at Lord Carle in surprise, but the Chara James was already saying, "You are a treasure-house of information, Carle. Well, Princess, if you would like to learn to read during your visit here, I'm sure that Brian would be glad to teach you. It will give him the opportunity to ask you about Daxion music. In the meantime, read the list aloud, Brian." 

"Including the t-titles, Chara?" 

"I am certain that you are eager to show off your skills in researching the titles," said Lord Carle. "Nevertheless, I would like to get to the borderland some time before the end of the month." 

"The shortened version of the titles," the Chara James said, glaring once more at his High Lord. "Start with Daxis." 

Brian raised the sheet. Suddenly switching to a rigid and stilted voice and speaking without a stammer, he said, "From Daxis: Richard, Prince of Daxis; Llyr, Subcommander of the Prince's Army—" 

"The Prince has changed his subcommander again," interrupted the Chara James. "He hasn't been able to find one yet who can lead the Daxion army as well as he did. Clydias is the new subcommander." 

Brian went over to a writing table near the hearth, took up a pen that was lying there, and dipped it in a nearby inkwell before making the change. Then he continued, "Dowal, Royal Clerk to the Prince of Daxis. From Koretia: The Jackal, Master of the Koretian Land—" 

"Who is unlikely to come unless a peace settlement is reached with Daxis," added the Chara James. "He says that he doesn't trust the Daxions not to slip over the border. I'm sorry, Brian; please continue." 

"Hollis, High Lord of the Jackal's Council; Brendon, Subcommander of the Jackal's Army; Andrew, Lord and Ambassador of Koretia." 

"Assuming that Andrew reappears by then," said the Chara James. "Have we missed anyone important, Princess?" 

I said hesitantly, "You decided not to invite Baroness Eulalee and Lady Elizabeth?" 

The Chara James bit his lip and frowned. "I do remember the question arising. What was the council's view on the subject, Carle?" 

"The council believed that the Prince's Bard and the High Lady might feel awkward being the only woman guests," replied Lord Carle. 

"Why aren't you inviting women?" I asked. 

The Chara James started to speak, faltered, and then looked once more toward Lord Carle for guidance. The High Lord said, "Emorian oaths are taken on the blade of a free-man's weapon. Only men carry weapons; therefore only men are invited to the oath-taking ceremony." 

"But guests do not take oaths to me," pointed out the Chara James. "I confess that the issue of women never occurred to me. Most of the guests to the enthronement come from the palace, and we have few free-women here because the palace is so crowded for space. Married palace officials usually take quarters in the city. Still, perhaps it would be a good idea to invite a few noblewomen to the ceremony. What do you think, Carle?" 

Lord Carle folded his arms. "It has never been done in the past. I think that it would be unwise to introduce such a radical innovation into the ceremony." 

The Chara James stared up at him, his young face growing dark with anger. "Nor has a Chara ever been chosen before from outside the royal family, Lord Carle. Not every break from tradition is a bad idea. Or are you simply worried that I will invite Lady Ursula to the ceremony?" 

It was the second time in which I had heard Lady Ursula's name mentioned in Lord Carle's presence, and the second time in which the mention of that name had been followed by a long pause. This time, though, I could guess the reason. Lord Carle must hate Andrew very much indeed if the mention of his sister could so easily provoke the High Lord's anger. 

Lord Carle had turned pale once more. Walking away abruptly, he went over to the writing table, snatching the list and pen from Brian's hands. Turning the list over, he spent a minute scribbling on it. Then he went over to the Chara James and wordlessly handed him the paper and pen. 

The Chara James looked at what Lord Carle had written, then took the pen and drew a line through words at the top of the page. He said quietly, "Lady Ursula has indicated to me that she does not wish to visit here again, as she fears that her presence might cause complaints from the palace dwellers. I apologize for mentioning her name." Taking up the pen again, he wrote something at the bottom, and then turned toward Brian, who had come over to stand beside him and was holding in his hand a small ball of wax. The Chara James took the wax, removed the ring on his right hand, and used the ring to press the wax to the paper below the words he had written. Handing the list back to Lord Carle, he said, "I would appreciate it if, upon your return to the palace, you would bring the names of these other women you have suggested before the council and vote on the matter. If the council wishes to summon me to one of its meetings, I would be glad to give my views on the subject." 

Lord Carle was watching the Chara James with a face drained of all color and expression. He made no spoken reply to the Chara's words, but bowed and walked away, closing the door quickly as he entered the corridor. 

The Chara James released a great sigh as he left. Brian said quietly, "If I may offer my view, Chara, I d-don't think you should have said that." 

"May I die a Slave's Death – of course I shouldn't have. But I grow so tired of fighting him on every small matter and listening to all of his insults. It makes me lose my temper." 

"He seemed in a worse mood today than usual," said Brian. 

"That was my fault," said the Chara James, twirling the pen in his hand. "I accidentally showed my look." 

"Ah." Brian went back over to the writing table and closed the inkwell there. 

"I don't understand," I said. 

The Chara James gave a quirk of a smile. "Have you ever heard of the look of the Chara in judgment, Princess?" 

"Yes, Chara." My mind drifted back to the Jackal, speaking of the burden his own god-mask brought to himself. 

"Its appearance affects different people to different degrees. Brian, for example, is hardly affected by it – which is just as well, since he has to stand by me in the court whenever I am giving judgment. Lord Carle, on the other hand . . . It must have something to do with his respect for the Chara, which is tremendous. I need hardly add that his respect for me as a private man is considerably lower." 

"The look of the Chara scares everyone," said Brian, glancing up from the writing table, where he was straightening piles of paper. "It's the only thing that I've ever seen unnerve Lord Andrew – though he tells me that the Jackal in judgment has the same effect on him." 

"Lord Carle goes into a foul temper whenever he thinks I've been misusing the look," said the Chara James. "I'm afraid that you've had a poor introduction to Emorian hospitality today, Princess – or do you prefer to be addressed as Lady Serva?" 

I sighed. I had undergone this type of conversation so many times in Koretia that I knew what was coming next. "Just Serva is fine. I suppose that I am now supposed to address the ruler of a great empire by his name." 

Brian's indrawn breath was what alerted to me the fact that I had just made a terrible mistake – that, and the sudden hardening of the Chara's face. For a moment that lay suspended in eternity, I saw the look of the Chara, piercing my spirit to judge my innermost being for the wrongdoing I had just committed. 

Then the look was gone, and I had a moment to reflect that I was a fool to have supposed that all foreigners acted alike. In Koretia, references to rank were dropped as quickly as possible, but here in Emor . . . I waited breathlessly to learn what judgment the Chara had made of me. Spirit of Merciful Peace, what if I had broken a law here? 

The Chara James laughed. Brian relaxed. I went limp in my chair and began to murmur an apology, which the Chara waved away with his hand. "Please do," he said, still grinning. "Carle never will, so I need as many people as possible to make up for his insufferable formality. Besides, you're the Princess of Daxis." 

He stated this firmly, as though issuing a royal decree. I made no objection, but I thought to myself that Andrew had been right: despite all of Emor's efforts to class people in neat ranks, I would never be completely a princess. One part of me was still down in the palace slave-quarters, watching the nobleman before me with alien eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

"They say she is beautiful, of course," said the Chara. "They'd say she was beautiful if she were cross-eyed, bow-legged, and had the face of a demon. All that the council cares about is getting me married and bedded and seeing that I produce an heir quickly. . . . Brian, my hand is about to fall off. How many more of these must I sign?" 

I cast a quick glance at Perry, who was in the corner of the room, standing as always with the mutilated half of his face turned away from us. He avoided my eyes. This may only have been because we had spent the morning watching the Chara in his court. We watched from the otherwise empty balcony that was usually reserved for the council lords and their servants, but even so, I could see that Perry was glad when the ordeal was over. 

I looked back at James. Two months had passed since we had arrived at the palace. Today, for the first time, I had seen him wearing what was called the look of the Chara in judgment – the first time, that is, since our introduction. Brian had assured us that the full effect of the Chara's terrifying expression could not be felt except by the person who was under judgment. I had possessed enough tact not to ask him how he had come by this knowledge. 

We were standing now in the vestibule behind the Court of Judgment. James was on one side of the room signing papers, Brian on the other side, preparing the documents. The clerk looked up from the page he was writing and said hesitantly, "You haven't signed any of the judgment documents this week, Ch-chara. They add up." 

James frowned and opened his mouth. Seeing Brian's look of apprehension, I asked hastily, "When will you have the chance to meet your betrothed?" 

"Not until immediately before the wedding next year," said James, bending down to sign another document. "But I've corresponded with her, and she seems to have a warm heart and discerning spirit, despite having lived such a sheltered life. That was the council's idea, of course: find a town baron's daughter who was used to cramped and confined spaces, so that she would adjust easily to palace life. Anyway, I have Lord Carle's word for it that she is a fine match – and he's a good judge of women." 

Brian had been in the process of sipping some water from a cup; his job required him to read out lengthy pieces of testimony in the court. He suddenly began choking on his drink. Perry was the only one close to him; Perry looked uneasy but did not move. 

James had an impish expression on his face. "Try taking smaller gulps next time," he suggested. 

Brian managed to get his breath back. "Chara, I hope you don't make such statements to Lord Carle." 

"I'm not that vengeful," said James. "I swear, he seems to have gained an extra twenty years of age since the affair, which is not a good thing in a man of seventy. There are times when I feel great pity for him. Then he opens his mouth, and I wonder whether I could get away with secretly murdering him." He looked over toward me, saw my blank look, and said, "Surely you haven't stayed here for this long without hearing about the great palace scandal." 

"Scandal?" I said, trying to imagine what sort of scandal the law-loving High Lord could have been involved in. 

"The Chara Peter's discovery that his wife was sleeping with his High Lord." 

I discovered that I was gaping like a fish. _"Lord Carle?"_

"That was our reaction, t-too," said Brian. "Actually, my first reaction was to laugh myself silly. That was before we realized how serious the matter was." 

"Serious for Peter, of course," said James, putting aside the stack of papers as Brian came over to deliver the day's judgment documents. "It helped drive him to an early death. Serious also for Ursula. From what Andrew has told me, she has never ceased to feel guilt for what she did, though she was not entirely to blame for what happened. Peter wasn't the best of husbands. And serious for poor Carle. I swear, I've seen sinking ships off my village's beach that were deserted less quickly than Carle was deserted by his friends. It's likely that Peter would have carried out his plan to execute Carle if Andrew hadn't hurried to the rescue." 

"Andrew?" I remembered not to gape this time, though I could not prevent myself from sounding bewildered. "But I thought Lord Carle was—" 

"Formerly his slave-master, yes," said James. "Andrew has an odd way of choosing his friends. —Well, Brian, I've finished with these, and my hand _is_ dead. Could you seal them, please?" He took off his seal-ring and held it out. 

I was between James and his clerk. I began to reach forward to pass the ring on, but James quickly lifted it out of my reach. He said with a small smile, "I'm sorry. This is one of those ceremonial matters that maddens foreigners who visit Emor." 

Brian took the ring from his hand. "It doesn't make it easy for those of us who live here. The f-first time that the Chara Peter handed me the ring, I felt as if I was touching fire. It was one of the most frightening moments of my life. It caused me to wonder whether I had made the right decision in becoming his clerk." 

Perry took a step out of the shadows he was cloaked in, but stopped as James said, "As for Andrew, he has an uncanny ability for turning enemies into friends – not only his own enemies, but other people's. I doubt that I would have involved myself in saving Carle if Andrew hadn't been so persuasive. Of course, now I realize how much Emor would have suffered if Carle had died that way. I find the man intolerable to work with, but he has great skills as High Lord. Andrew always seems to know instinctively how to enable enemies to work together peacefully." 

Brian paused as he pressed down the wax on one of the documents. "He knew about Daxis." 

"Daxis?" I said. 

"He wrote to me three years ago, offering to act as an ambassador between Emor and Daxis, should we ever need one," James explained. "That was when our two lands were the firmest of allies; I couldn't imagine what failing of the mind had caused Andrew to think we would need an ambassador. But now that Daxis and Koretia are continuing to threaten war against each other, our relations with Daxis have deteriorated markedly. I could use Andrew's help in this matter if only I knew where to find him. He still hasn't contacted the Jackal?" 

He addressed his question to me, as Brian had taught me enough written Koretian by this point that I could now read John's letters to Perry. I shook my head. 

"I remember once when Andrew d-disappeared for two years," said Brian. "I'm finished here, Chara." 

James took his ring back and said, "Well, then, I am off to fight with Lord Carle over the additions I want to make to the enthronement ceremony. He appears to feel that any departure from tradition – by which he means what was done at Peter's enthronement – is likely to lead to disaster. I really don't know how it is that Andrew tolerates his rigidity." 

He opened the door to the corridor behind the court, and the sound of men's voices entered the room. Perry stiffened and took a step back into the corner; then he stopped himself and stood motionless as Brian came over to stand by him. 

"I need some help carrying these documents back," Brian said. "Could you t-take some of the papers?" 

I opened my mouth to offer my services, and then quickly swallowed my words as Perry stepped forward. In a swift motion Perry lifted the top of the pile from Brian's hands, clutched the papers to his chest, and stepped forward to the door. 

Brian and I followed behind; I could see that Brian had his eye on Perry. As we stepped into the empty corridor, I said, "It's hard for me to imagine Andrew as friends with Lord Carle." 

Brian replied, "They were bitter enemies for years, but five years ago Andrew set out to seduce Carle. That's the only word I can use for it. He essentially tricked Carle into becoming his friend. It must have been a hard task for Andrew to undertake, since Carle, more than anyone else, has the ability to hurt Andrew; he knows all of his former slave's weaknesses. There is one area in particular where Andrew is vulnerable." We turned a corner in the corridor, and Brian looked at me out of the side of his eye to see whether I knew what he was referring to. "Carle used to taunt him about this with sickening regularity. I think that, if Andrew had been any less strong than he is, the High Lord would have broken him years ago." 

Ahead of us, Perry suddenly dodged to one side to avoid a fair-haired boy, about age ten, who was charging down the corridor. Brian stepped forward and grabbed hold of the boy as he passed. 

"You'd best learn to look where you're going, young page," he said sternly. 

The boy grinned up at him. "I'm supposed to be fast." 

"You're also supposed to respect your b-betters. Suppose I'd been the Chara? He wouldn't have taken kindly to being knocked into." 

The boy began dancing up and down on his toes. "I really am in a hurry. The summoners want a message sent to the dungeon, and then I'm to deliver the morning's charges to your quarters, and _then_ you can tell me how much better a page you were." 

Brian thrust his fist down onto the side of the boy's head. At the last moment the blow turned into a tussle of the hair. "Get on, then, and watch where you're running from this point on." 

The boy launched himself down the corridor once more. Brian watched him go with a smile, saying, "My youngest. Galen gets his boldness f-from his mother, not from me." 

"I didn't realize that you were married," I said as we walked forward. 

"I sometimes think the Chara doesn't realize it either, what with—" 

Brian stopped, his eye on Perry ahead. We had reached the point where the court corridor joined with the corridor leading toward the court officials' quarters. Perry had walked through this many times before, but only early in the morning or late in the evening. Now the corridor was crammed full of the noonday traffic: there was barely room for another person to walk. 

Perry was standing stiffly with his back to the wall facing the corridor, his gaze fixed on the people ahead. Brian and I came to stand beside him. The clerk said, "I hate the noonday traffic; I can't tell you how many times I've walked along that corridor carrying a pile of documents and been pushed into, so that my papers flew everywhere. I usually wait until the crowd has thinned somewhat." 

I don't think Brian intended this as a challenge, but Perry evidently took it as such. His chin went up, and he resolutely stepped forward, like a man preparing to travel through fire. 

Alas, this was not a metaphor where Perry was concerned. I quickly stepped to one side of him, while Brian flanked Perry's other side, so that Perry journeyed unscathed. Brian and I were jostled a bit in passing; even Brian's status as the highest-ranked palace official didn't save him from this. 

It was with relief that I finally sighted the door to Brian's chambers. I darted ahead to open the door for the two documents-laden men— 

—and then turned back at the sound of a scream. 

Everyone was turning to look. The army orderly who had accidentally bumped into Perry was staring open-mouthed. Brian, apparently sensing that the current disaster could worsen, pushed the orderly back, swept aside the onlookers, and opened the door wide, ignoring the papers on the floor that Perry had dropped. 

I quickly scooped up the papers and followed Perry inside, closing the door behind me. The corridor was lit only with a single oil-lamp near the door; Perry was now huddling in a shadowed corner next to the door. Turning to take the remaining papers from me, Brian caught my eye with an enquiring look; I shook my head. There was no point in trying to hurry Perry under these circumstances. 

Time passed by. His arms still filled with heavy papers, Brian showed no inclination to leave; he was pretending to read the topmost document. Finally Perry emerged from his corner. His right cheek was streaked with tears, but he made no attempt to leave, perhaps fearing more what lay beyond the door to the main corridor. 

Brian cleared his throat. "My chamber is just a little further down." 

Perry and I followed him along the narrow corridor with closed doors on either side. I could hear nothing from behind any of the doors. Finally we reached a point where the corridor stopped running east, abruptly turning south. As I glanced around the corner, I saw that, at the very end of the corridor, two guards flanked a doorway. Their gazes slid over Perry and me before they returned to the eyes-front sentry position that I was so familiar with by now. On the door was a plaque with a single word written upon it: "Documents." 

I thought of what I had learned from Andrew and Perry on our journey to Emor – of how Andrew had stumbled across a secret Emorian document during his spying – and I smiled. Evidently, the Emorians were taking precautions now against the espionage skills of the Koretian Ambassador. 

Brian was already fumbling to unlock a door set into the wall at the end of the east corridor – not an easy task, given his burden. But he managed it eventually, and I followed him in, with Perry not far behind me. 

I was immediately struck by the coldness of the chamber. Most rooms in the Chara's palace, I had found, were heated, not only by the tangling maze of hypocausts that ran under much of the palace, but also by fireplaces. At this time of year, most of those rooms had their window shutters closed against the coolness of the Emorian autumn. To compensate for the lack of light, the palace was filled to the brim with torches and lanterns and oil-lamps and candles. 

But this chamber had unshuttered windows, no fireplace, and only one lantern on the desk, unlit. A glance around the chamber made clear why light was favored over fire in this place. Except for the eastern wall, which was set with many windows, all the walls of the chamber were filled with bookcases, crammed with even more books than I had seen in the Chara's sitting chamber. Only a few of these appeared to be law volumes; I recognized those from the Chara's seal on the spine. Instead, most of the spines had titles hastily scribbled in pencil. From what I remembered of the chamber of the King's clerk in Daxis, these were likely record books on daily government matters, not worth preserving beyond the time when they were of immediate use. 

Brian's desk was a good deal tidier than the desk of Dowal, the incompetent royal clerk of Daxis, whom my father had threatened for years to dismiss, though never bothering to exert himself that far. Brian preserved his tidiness despite the fact that the desk was filled with mountainous stacks of documents. Sighing, Brian put down yet another stack on the desk. "They arrive and pile up whenever I'm in court," he said mournfully. "Ah, my noonday meal has been delivered as well. Will you both join me? There's more than enough for three." 

This was nothing other than the simple truth. I had been appalled when I saw what generous portions were allotted to Perry and me when our first meals were delivered to us in our chambers. After we'd made several futile attempts to eat everything that was given to us – Perry was a light eater by nature, and I by training – I had finally been obliged to ask the free-servant delivering our meals to let the cook know that we would prefer that half our portions be given to the poor. 

I gathered that this had caused not a little stir in the kitchens. But the result of all that had been a pleasant conversation one afternoon with the Chara about ways in which the palace could distribute its surplus supplies to the poor folk in the surrounding capital. 

Brian, who had been present at the meeting to record my suggestions, flicked a look over my shoulder. I turned to look. I would not have been surprised to have seen Perry edging out of the room in response to Brian's invitation; instead, I saw that he was absorbed in examining a framed picture at the far end of the room, next to one of the windows. 

"Thank you; we appreciate your hospitality," I told Brian and went to see what Perry was looking at. 

It was not a picture after all; it was a text of some sort, which I found odd at first, for Perry did not know how to read and write. I had tried to pass on to him what I had learned from my lessons with Brian, but he had refused to listen, and I had heeded the warning once given me by the Jackal, not to force Perry to do hard tasks. From the way Perry reacted to my offers, I suspected that someone in his past had not heeded such warnings, and that reading and writing had become tasks he much feared. 

This text I could not have read in any case, for I knew how to read only Daxion and Koretian so far. Judging from the length of the words, I suspected the framed text must be in Emorian, yet sketched in the margins were tiny but clear drawings of harps. 

"That's an Emorian translation of the song which was sung at the victory feast of the Battle of Mountain Heights," said Brian. He had remained at the other end of the room, apportioning out the food. "It's the first record we have of a Daxion bard visiting the land that would become the Empire of Emor, though of course many bards must have visited before that time." 

"Of course," I agreed, standing on my toes to see the picture better, since I dared not come too near to Perry. "Bards have existed since the founding of Daxis." 

"Oh, before that," Brian assured me. "Lord Andrew recounted to me a Daxion tale he heard of a bard who lived at the time that the northern and southern peoples of the Great Peninsula first intermarried. That would have been many centuries before the founding of Daxis." 

"Truly?" I turned my attention away from the painting, returning to the desk. Brian had dealt with the lack of three plates by placing my food and Perry's on opposite ends of the warming lid, turned upside down. Heading toward the wine-table that seemed to exist in every palace room, I said, "Andrew never mentioned that song to me." 

"Er, no. He would not have. The song was about a half-man, you see." 

Just on the point of reaching toward the cups, I looked over my shoulder. Brian was staring hard at the food in front of him. Perry, by contrast, had begun to turn his head to stare at us. Seeing me look his way, he quickly returned his gaze to the song. 

I turned back to the wine. There were many bottles to choose from; the Emorians, I was coming to realize, were masters at wine-making, since the Emorian borderland held some of the finest vineyards in the Three Lands of the Great Peninsula. The Emorians loved their wine, just as the Daxions loved their cider and the Koretians loved their ale and beer. The only wine that the Emorians didn't drink was the bitter wild-berry wine that Koretians were inordinately fond of. 

To my surprise, I found a small bottle of wild-berry wine on the table, its cork loose. I poured a cup for Perry, then poured cups of Emorian wall-vine wine for Brian and me, and carried them all over to the desk. 

By the time I arrived, Brian had cleared the desk of everything except the food, a pen, a stopped inkwell, and a stack of blank papers. As he and I sat down, I said, "You seem to have a great deal of work to do here." 

Brian sighed again. "I do, yes. It seems like every paper related to the running of the empire comes across my desk. When I was younger, that thrilled me, but now that I have a wife and children . . . Well, I often work till the midnight trumpets sound. I find I don't have time to spend with my family." 

"Can the Chara help?" I asked, stirring my food without eating it, so absorbed was I in Brian's quandary. It had never occurred to me that palace officials, like slaves, might feel burdened by their work. 

"Unfortunately, no; the problem lies in the work itself. I've talked with my wife about this and— We haven't yet made any decisions." 

Clearly, this was not something he wished to discuss with us, so I changed the topic, asking, "Did you always want to be a clerk?" 

He smiled. "In my deepest spirit, yes, since the time I was a small boy. But of course such an ambition was impossible." 

"Impossible?" I said with surprise. I had heard by now many compliments on Brian's talents. Even Andrew had mentioned Brian in passing as the Chara's most able royal official. 

"B-because of my stammer, you see." 

I had nearly forgotten about Brian's stammer; it had begun to disappear in the last few minutes. I said, "Surely that wouldn't be a barrier. You don't stammer in court." 

"No, I received help from a Daxion bard who lived in the palace some years ago; he taught me to give my speeches in court the same rhythm and intonation as songs. For some reason, I don't stammer when I sing. B-but I stammered in court b-badly when I was first appointed clerk. Very b-badly. I would never have been appointed to my office if it had not b-been for Andrew." 

I had positioned my chair so that I could watch both Brian and Perry. I saw Perry turn his gaze cautiously in our direction. I sipped the wine, reflecting upon the fact that Brian had dropped Andrew's title. Finally I said, "I didn't realize you knew Andrew well." 

Brian smiled again. He had already finished half his meal; I was beginning to think that he had been less than honest about the amount of food he was capable of eating. But he put down his silverware to say, "Oh, the Koretian Ambassador has many friends throughout the Three Lands. For a man who gives all the appearance of being stiff and cold, he has a surprising capacity for making friendships. I think I can claim to be one of his first friends, though I didn't realize it at the time." 

Perry had silently made his way halfway down the chamber. He was pretending to look out the window. Other than the coolness, there was no sign of autumn outside, for there were no trees to drop their leaves, and the grass remained spring-green. It had rained here practically every day since we had arrived. 

"How long ago was that?" I asked. 

"A quarter century ago. I was just a boy then, working as a scribe for the Chara's clerk – except that there was no Chara at the time. The Chara Nicholas had died, and the Chara To Be, Lord Peter, was not yet enthroned. He had decided to delay his enthronement in order to take a final trip up to the northern dominions of the empire – at least, that's what I heard later. At the time, I was too busy suffering to worry about such high matters." 

"Suffering?" I said. Perry had stopped looking toward the landscape; his face was turned toward Brian. 

Brian didn't notice; he was fidgeting with his fork. "Perhaps that's too strong a word. Boys will be boys, and I was hardly the only scribe to be roughhoused by the other scribes. But I had the d-disadvantage of not being able to speak p-properly, you see. Nobody really thought I should b-be there. Even my father had been opposed to my working at the palace; he loved me in his own way, b-but he thought there was no point in wasting the effort to petition for a post for me, since I would never be able speak p-properly. He finally d-decided, after I'd b-begged for long hours, that I could be a scribe, since that was the only p-palace appointment that d-didn't require me to speak much." 

Brian's stammering had worsened so much that I could barely make sense of his words. I could understand why even a loving father might have had doubts about his son's future. 

Perry had given up entirely trying to pretend that he lacked interest in Brian's tale. I asked Brian, "Did you dislike the work?" 

"Oh, no, it was interesting, reading all those d-documents recording the Chara's words. Of c-course, we scribes weren't permitted to copy c-correspondence, only official proclamations. But I learned a great d-deal about the law during those years. Only, it made me yearn for a higher role in palace affairs. And always there were the other b-boys, seeking to make my life miserable. 

"But then they found a new target." 

Perry had moved again, while I was absorbed in Brian's tale; he was now standing two windows nearer, playing with the edge of a shutter. I did my best not to stare at him. "Target?" I said. 

"Andrew." 

Perry's head turned. I said, "Surely not. Wasn't he the Chara's friend by then? Or at least his free-servant?" 

"Oh, no, he was just a slave-boy. You see, Lord P-peter had inherited his father's slaves, but he didn't yet have the power to free any of them – not as long as he was Chara To B-be. And then he went off to visit Marcadia and Arpesh. Ordinarily, Andrew would have been transferred back under the power of the slave-keeper, as the Chara's other slaves were. Instead, to the horror of the clerk and the scribes and everyone else in the palace, Lord Peter declared that, while he was gone, he wanted Andrew to be a scribe." 

"Oh," I said, fully understanding. 

Brian nodded. "It was terrible. For Andrew, I mean. I'd thought my own life was hard in the clerk's quarters, but I had a father who was a village baron, and Andrew had no one to protect him. I don't suppose any of the b-boys thought far enough ahead to envision what Lord Peter would do when he returned. All they c-could contemplate was that this slave – this half-man, this nobody – had come in and taken up the sort of work that all of those free-boys had struggled to win the right to do. I swear, I began to fear for Andrew's life." 

I had forgotten entirely about Perry by now; I was leaning forward to hear Brian's low voice. "He was badly hurt?" 

"I believe so. He never talked about it, and I never heard a sound from where he worked. Back then, you see, all the junior scribes were in a single chamber, while the senior scribes each had their own rooms. I was g-good enough a scribe to have won my seniority, so I rarely saw Andrew . . . but when I did, his face was always bruised and bloody. The clerk took no notice; he didn't want Andrew to be working there. And Lord Peter was far away. So I t-tried to befriend Andrew." 

"Tried?" I said softly. 

Brian gave a quirk of a smile. He had abandoned his food, as well as his wine. "He was a good deal c-colder in those days. He refused to respond to any remark I made. I thought I'd made no impression on him at all. B-but one day when I came to fetch a document from the junior scribes' dormitory, a few of the junior scribes, tiring of their torment of Andrew, began to tease me, telling me I was fit for nothing but to p-polish the clerk's floors – that I'd never b-be anything, b-because of the way I spoke. Andrew was nearby, scribing. I thought he didn't hear them. I hoped he d-didn't notice my tears. 

"But that evening, as I was beginning to set my work aside in preparation to go home, he appeared at the door to my scribing room. He said in his stiff voice, 'I hear you know how to scribe Border Koretian. I want to learn that language.' And from that point forward, he came to visit me every evening for lessons. I don't know what excuses he made to the slave-keeper for his delays in returning to the slave-quarters. Possibly he silently endured whatever beatings he was given there, just as he silently endured the beatings he received from the scribes. And he continued to ignore my efforts to befriend him. I thought at the time that he only visited me because I could extend his knowledge of languages. 

"But a month later, the Chara To Be arrived home, and Andrew left the clerk's quarters. And a fortnight after that, Lord Peter summoned me to his chambers. He quizzed me about my work and my family. At the end of the conversation he told me that, when it came time for the current clerk to retire, I would become the Chara's clerk." 

I had to swallow the remainder of the wine before I could speak. "Because of Andrew," I said. 

Brian nodded. He was leaning back in his chair now, far more relaxed than I had ever seen him before. "If you were to ask any palace resident about my rise to power, they would speak of the generosity and wisdom of the Chara Peter. I don't want to deny what they say; I know that it took a great deal of insight on the Chara Peter's part to recognize that I had the potential to hold so high an office. But I also know that, if it had not been for Andrew, I would never have been summoned to the Chara To Be's presence. At best, I'd still be scribbling in a little room in these quarters. More likely, I'd be destitute, living off the charity of my family. Thanks to Andrew—" 

He broke off suddenly. I turned my gaze in time to see Perry pick up the pen on Brian's desk. As I watched, Perry leaned forward and placed the pen in front of Brian. 

"My name is Perry," he said softly. "Will you teach me to read and write?" 

Brian stared up, the man who had been saved from a life of destitution through Andrew's compassion. Perry stared back, the man who had been saved from a life of destitution through the Jackal's compassion. 

After a moment more, Brian managed to overcome his shock. "Of course," he said in a matter-of-fact voice as he picked up the pen and reached for a piece of paper. "It's quite easy. All of the languages of the Three Lands share the same alphabet, save for the dominion tongues. Here's what your name looks like in the alphabet of the Three Lands. . . ." 

When I reached the door, I looked back. Perry was sitting next to Brian now, far enough way that the heat of Brian's body would not harm him. He was listening intently as his seventh friend widened the door of Perry's potential. 

Smiling, I left the two of them alone.


	3. Chapter 3

"These," said Lord Carle, "are low-branch apples, the reason for the appellation being all too obvious. I lose half my pickings each year to village children, so you may as well complete my losses for the season and try a sample." 

I reached over to the tree and felt the apple fall easily into my hand, smooth and heavy. I bit into the side of it, wiped the juice from my mouth, and looked doubtfully at the High Lord. 

"Not the best taste," he agreed. "There seems to be a rule that, the easier a tree is to pick, the lower the quality will be of its apples. In a treeless land such as Emor, though, even fruit such as that commands a good price." 

"Has your family owned Peaktop Orchard for long?" I asked between bites, feeling obliged by his words to finish the apple. 

"About eight generations, most of which has been spent struggling to keep the land from falling into the hands of bankers. The other side of my family is descended from the Chara Peter's great-great-grandfather, so I have inherited the troublesome legacy of having to learn how to be both master and servant." 

I glanced over at Lord Carle, wondering whether he was finally planning to reveal his purpose in bringing me out to see his country home. Catching my look, the High Lord turned abruptly and said, "The view from over here is the only reason I hold onto this profit-eating land. Come this way – and try not to deplete more of my profits by stepping on windfalls as you go." 

These words did not encourage me to look up as we made our way through the close-clustered trees of Lord Carle's orchard, all forced into neat patterns as though they were soldiers standing in parade. The trees buffered us somewhat from the piercing autumn wind, made worse by the fact that Lord Carle's village was on the top of a small mountain. But we were soon beyond the shield of the trees, climbing the slope toward Lord Carle's house. I pulled my cloak tighter against my body. What folly, I wondered, had made me flee north at a season when the birds were flying south? 

We reached the side of the house. I saw that Lord Carle had noticed me shivering, but I suppose that he considered me in need of toughening, for he made no comment except to point to the horizon before us. 

"You can see through the gaps in the black border mountains from here," he said. "To the left is Koretia, to the right Daxis." 

"Left of what? That hut down there?" 

"The city is a better landmark. That white glimmer you can just see across the fields is the palace. I usually find it a more pleasant sight than these worm-bitten, disease-ridden liabilities on my own land." 

I smiled; I was beginning to sense how much of Lord Carle's speech was a bluff covering his inner thoughts. "I love apple trees," I said. "My cousin and I once planted an apple tree near the Daxion palace." 

"This would have been when you were still in the nursery, I take it." 

Lord Carle was standing erect against the house, ignoring the wind that shook his silver locks of hair down into his eyes. I tried unsuccessfully to get him to meet my gaze and finally decided that the elder statesman was too formidable a fighter for me to attack by subtle means. "High Lord," I said, "would you mind telling me how it is that you know more about me than anyone else in Emor? Did Lord Andrew tell you about his spying mission to Daxis six years ago?" 

Lord Carle looked down at me then, his bushy, silver-red eyebrows lowering to match the annoyance in his voice. "Lord Andrew gave me no details about his work in Daxis on the one occasion upon which the subject arose," he said. "At the time, he was too busy spying on Emor. What little I know of you comes from conversations I held with a Daxion slave-servant I once owned." 

"I remember that," I said slowly. "When you came to Daxis last spring, you said that you were returning your slave to her homeland. But how did this slave know about me?" 

"She was owned by your father originally. She claimed a certain acquaintance with you; her name was Grace." 

"Grace!" I caught a glimmer of amusement in Lord Carle's eyes and realized that I had rewarded him by my response. "How did Grace come to be your servant?" 

"She was a bribe sent by the King – not a very good bribe, I might add. My first conversation with her took place when she deliberately dashed a valuable vase at my feet. I have gradually been reaching the conclusion that the Chara Peter was right when he told me once that the troubles caused by slaves do not make them worth the money saved in not paying them wages." 

He turned away then, as he always did when mentioning the Chara Peter, and began to walk down the side of the eastern slope. Seeking a foothold in the scrubby grass, I could not look up for several minutes. When I finally did, I saw that we were standing beside a pond. A large rock lay next to the pond. Lord Carle waved me onto this; his gesture had the appearance of a command rather than an offer. He took up a sentinel post next to a lone apple tree that overlooked the spring. 

Craning to look up at him, I decided that the High Lord was well experienced in finding ways to make his inferiors feel intimidated. He had managed to keep me sufficiently cowed throughout my visit that I had not even dared to question him when, a few miles out of the Emorian capital, this great scorner of religion had suddenly withdrawn from his belt-purse a badge of the Unknowable God's mask and pinned it to his tunic. It glinted there now, catching the final light of day. 

It struck me also that Lord Carle generally used his methods of intimidation at moments when he most wanted to change the subject. A certain stubbornness arose in me. I think that it was mixed with pity. I asked, "Did you know the Chara Peter for many years?" 

Lord Carle avoided my eyes but not my question. "I first became acquainted with the Chara when he was a boy." 

"It must have been difficult for you, then, to undergo his judgment." 

Lord Carle turned his head so that I could see plainly the glare of his leaf-green eyes. He said with a soft precision that made me shiver, "I think I must be the only person left in the Three Lands who holds to a decently reticent manner of speaking. Was it from Lord Andrew that you learned this method of attacking a man's defenses where he is weakest?" 

I could think of nothing to say except, "Does Lord Andrew do that?" 

Lord Carle shifted his eyes back to the scene before us: the still, grey pond; the cattle-covered slope; and the autumn-brown fields beyond that. "Lord Andrew," he said, "has built a wall around himself so thick that the imperial armies could lay siege to it for a year without success; therefore he takes great pleasure in tearing down other people's walls. His latest entertainment comes in destroying all the illusions I have carefully nurtured about myself over the years. I know what he is doing – he has never succeeded long in keeping his Koretian deceits from me – but I submit to this destruction because I consider it a much lighter punishment than I deserve for betraying the Chara's trust." 

Grace's voice echoed in my mind then; a faint echo, from several years back, of her saying, "Lord Carle appeared to feel that no punishment was too great for a servant, slave or free, who disobeyed his master." It seemed, then, that the High Lord was prepared to submit himself to the standards he had set for others. For the first time, I saw what it was that had drawn Andrew to seek friendship from the man who had hurt him so badly. Cruel the Emorians might be, but they were not without honor. 

Lord Carle added, "I suppose that it is a sign of approaching senility that I am speaking of this matter to you, a young woman who is at the age when self-deceptions continue to grow. I do not expect you to understand what it is like for me to live with the knowledge that my actions drove my master and wine-friend to an early death." 

I reached down to the ground, found a jagged-edge pebble, and tossed it into the swift waters before us. Without looking up, I said softly, "I don't suppose that it's possible for anyone to fully understand what another person undergoes. But during the past few months, a woman I loved was murdered because she tried to help me, my father died because of a chain of events I set off, and two of my friends nearly lost their lives defending me. So I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind my asking. I'm sorry if I've offended you with my questions." 

I was reaching over to the far side of the rock for another pebble when I saw Lord Carle's hand in front of me. He was holding a round, water-smoothed rock. As I took it from him, he said, "I apologize. I have made the elementary and all-too-common mistake of thinking that my own troubles are greater than anyone else's. If one of my junior lords had behaved in such a fashion, I would have treated him to a lengthy lecture on a council lord's duty to look at the world in an objective and rational fashion." 

"Some things are hard to be rational about," I murmured. 

"Such as your love of Lord Andrew?" 

I was reaching forward to touch the pond, so I must have looked particularly idiotic gaping up at him. At any rate, my appearance prompted his eyes to shine with amusement as he said, "Apples for pears, as we say in the trade. If you are going to strip open other people's forbidden topics, you must be prepared to submit to such treatment yourself." 

"How did you know?" I asked. 

With a decisive wave of the hand, Lord Carle motioned me over to one side of the rock and sat down beside me. "Amongst the many methods of defense I acquired while working for the Chara's army and for his council, the one that I neglected to gather until recently was how to tell when a woman is in love. I have thought it wise during the past five years to acquire that knowledge. You would not, by any chance, be the reason for the Koretian Ambassador's mysterious disappearance at the moment when the rulers of two lands are crying out for his help." 

I hesitated and then told him the whole story of the shifting relations between Andrew and me, ending the tale by explaining how I had driven him away by pressing too hard my desire for his marriage song. By the time I was finished, I had forgotten the chill wind whipping through the cloth of my cloak; I felt like a bard singing a lengthy ballad before a rapt audience. 

Lord Carle was staring out at the rock-hedged fields below us, his eyes narrowing as dusk lowered about us. I wondered what he was thinking; though I had told my tale in a tactful fashion, Lord Carle must know the reason why Andrew hesitated to marry me. 

Lord Carle asked abruptly, "Do you tell me this because you wish a sympathetic ear or because you seek my advice?" 

"If you have any advice, I would appreciate hearing it," I said, "but I don't see what I can do. Andrew has vowed not to see me again." 

"Koretians are fanatically stubborn about keeping their vows," said Lord Carle. "When Lord Andrew was a child, he made a vow to kill the Chara, a vow I foolishly hoped that he had set aside at a later age. Yet lo, he comes to visit Emor a few years ago, he and I return to our old pattern of fighting, and a few months later our quarrels serve to bring about the Chara Peter's death. Since that time I have always thought it best to enquire into the exact wording of Koretian oaths." 

I thought back. "He swore that he would not come if I called for him." 

"Then my advice to you, Princess, is that you not send him any messages, or he will feel obliged to keep his vow." 

A hope, carefully imprisoned in the far reaches of my heart, began clanging at its bars. "You think that he will come if I don't ask him to do so?" 

"If you ever reach the point where you can predict what Lord Andrew will do, then you will have reached far beyond the capabilities of any other mortal," replied Lord Carle. "I have met many a wild animal whose actions can be more easily anticipated than those of my former slave. Frankly, I feel obliged to warn you that it is not wise to be in the same vicinity as him when he is armed; he has too much experience with murder for me to feel entirely easy in his presence. But I must admit that his deceptions always appear to bring about some good in the end. It may be that his present self-deception will do the same." 

He leaned over then and threw his own pebble into the pond. I caught another glimpse of the god-mask badge that Andrew must have given him. The sound of the pebble landing in the water barely reached my ears. In the distance, I could just make out the widening circles of the ripple. 

"I feel obliged to offer a second apology for the part I have played in this crisis," Lord Carle said. "I once lectured the Chara Peter on how the smallest of his actions could have a devastating effect on the empire; now I find my words seeking revenge upon me. I think I can truthfully say that my gelding of a slave-boy thirty years ago has brought more trouble to this land than most wars. I would be much obliged to you if you could find a way to ameliorate the consequences of my action." 

There was little I could say to this painful confession, so I simply nodded. My thoughts had wandered back to something that the Prince had once told me in passing, and which I had not allowed myself to think about until now: _"You know that I am covetous and ruthless and willing to manipulate the hearts of those around me. You may not realize that you are the same."_

And then came the memory of Andrew, relaxed and generously open in my presence until the moment when I unexpectedly slipped the blade of my marriage suit into his heart. Twice. 

Ruthless? Well, perhaps a bit of ruthlessness was needed when dealing with the most dangerous man in the Three Lands. But twice was enough. Lord Carle was right: if I were to have any chance of winning Andrew to me, it must now be through patience rather than pressure. 

Silence does not come easily to a Daxion. Perhaps that was why the Song Spirit had chosen this trial for me. 

Lord Carle added, "I will have the wrath of the Chara upon me if I continue to allow you to sit here in this late-year wind. May I offer you a fire, a comfortable chair, and a piece of apple pie in partial payment of my anticipated debt to you?" 

I smiled. "You will spoil me if you do." 

"That is the first time I have ever encountered that particular accusation," said Lord Carle as he offered me his hand to rise. "I suppose that you have just given me another sign of my approaching senility: so falls my carefully constructed reputation as the harshest disciplinarian in the Chara's palace. It may be that Lord Andrew has met his match."


	4. Chapter 4

The Great Chara of Emor sat cross-legged on the floor of his sitting chamber, took careful aim, and threw a nut into the middle of a chalk-lined circle. 

"Now you try," he said, offering me the nut bowl. 

I took the bowl, saying, "You're destroying all my illusions about the formality of Emorian life." 

"If it's formality you want, I'd be glad to hold a reception for you. First you are introduced to the palace officials, and they present you with three keys to the palace, none of which open any actual doors, but which represent the court, the council, and the army. Then you are introduced to a representative from each of the three divisions . . ." 

"Please forget I said anything." I threw my nut, aiming for James's previous throw, but my missile went wide of the circle. 

"My prisoner," asserted James and popped my nut into his mouth. 

"Is that part of the game?" I asked as I handed the bowl to Perry. 

"It's why I play with nuts rather than pebbles." James's gaze drifted over to Perry, sitting a few feet back from the circle. The Chara waited until Perry had made his shot – which landed well into the circle, though without hitting James's nut – and said, "Brian tells me that I made a remark last week that was less than tactful. Something about the face of a demon. I wanted to apologize for that if I caused offense." 

Perry's head remained bowed, but he pushed the bowl forward. The Chara hooked his fingers around the edge of the bowl, slid it toward him, and added, "I suppose it was easy for me to make such a remark because I'm used to being the man in this land who has the most terrifying face." 

Perry raised his eyes high enough to watch James make his shot. I said, "It startled me the first time I saw it." 

"On our first meeting, you mean?" James had taken an extra nut from the bowl and was rolling it around with his hand on the cold floor tiles. "I'm sorry that you had such an abrupt introduction to the look of the Chara; I'm not sure why that occurred before you were barely in the door. Usually I know when it is going to happen – except for the first time, when I was frightened out of my wits. I was shaking so badly that Lord Carle actually had to stop the private enthronement and take me into a corner to calm me down." 

I realized that I was rapidly eating all of our game pieces, so I passed the Daxion nuts to Perry without taking my shot. "Is it really that bad?" 

"I hadn't fully realized that it would happen, you see. Carle had spoken to me about it on a single occasion when I was preoccupied with the question of whether to accept the throne. I suppose that was his idea of sufficient warning." 

James curled up his legs against his body, leaning against the legs of his reclining couch. Behind him, a fire that his free-servant had started was dispensing what little warmth could be found in the night-cold chamber. James added, "Once he had me alone at the private enthronement, Carle proceeded to recite to me what I've always considered to be the most heartbreaking passage in the law books, the one that describes the burdens of the Chara. It was generous of him to do so, because the passage comes from the very law he had been put on trial for breaking two months before. I don't suppose that he liked being reminded of it. Then, being Carle, he proceeded to explain to me why I was completely unworthy of the office of the Chara, which made me so angry that I completed the rest of the ceremony without incident. He came to me afterwards and gave me a long and abject apology. I think he expected me to place him under judgment for daring to defy the Chara. Carle seems incapable of adopting any role in between domineering master and servile slave." 

I stretched out my cramped legs along the floor, decided that the tiles were too icy for such an exercise, and moved over to the rug upon which Perry was sitting. "Emorian society doesn't appear to offer anything in between." 

"Yes, I know what you southerners think about the subject. I've had a few arguments with Carle on the matter myself – but I wouldn't want to live in Koretia, where you are given no clue as to how people of different ranks behave. I never would have survived my first few weeks of palace life if it hadn't been clear what was expected of me." James took one of the nuts he had been playing with, tossed it into the circle, and sent a nut that was already there spinning toward Perry. I snatched it up quickly as James added, "As for the look of the Chara, I still haven't fully reconciled myself to it, I suppose. It's hard to describe what happens inside me when it appears. It's as though something alien joins with me and guides me to do things I wouldn't ordinarily think to do." 

"Andrew says that it's a god-mask," I said, somewhat hesitantly because I had been enduring Carle's caustic remarks about the Koretian religion. 

"I don't know about that," said James, displaying the same Emorian reluctance to take seriously such matters. "All I know is that I couldn't make the judgments I do without its help, so I accept it as one of my burdens of being the Chara. I wonder whether your cousin has been undergoing similar difficulties in his transition to power." 

Perry had been sitting quietly all this while. Now he rose suddenly and walked over to the Chara's writing table. He picked up a quill and dipped it in the ink, jabbing the surface of the liquid first to break the thin layer of ice that had formed on top. Then he laboriously wrote a single word onto the piece of paper before him. He placed the sheet a spear's length from James and returned to seat himself where he had been before. 

James picked up the sheet and said, "Apologies, but I haven't had time to learn Koretian yet. I had to put off much of my training because of the war here." 

I took the page from him and said, "It's a Daxion word anyway. It means 'Song Spirit.'" I glanced over at Perry, who was cradling his harp on his lap. During the past few days he had begun to carry it with him wherever he went. I knew that he had made several attempts to sing his songs to Emorians. Only Brian had shown the proper attentiveness to allow him to make it to the end of his songs. 

I said to James, "I think Perry means that he wasn't able to feel the presence of the Song Spirit when the Prince touched him. He ought to have been able to if the Prince was truly Voice to the Spirit. But Eulalee doesn't appear to miss anything, in her work for the Prince." 

"Perhaps Perry is different from the other bards," suggested James casually. I saw him bite his lip as Perry immediately rose from his place and walk to the door. Without looking back at us, Perry slipped into the corridor. 

"May the high doom fall upon me," said James as the door closed. "I'm always making careless remarks." 

"It's not your fault," I assured him. "Something is bothering Perry – I'm not sure what." 

"Yes, I've noticed that myself." James rose from the floor, dusted off the seat of the bright yellow tunic he was wearing, and went over to the hearth to toss another log in. "He's not happy here, that's obvious enough. A couple of days ago, I told Brian that he could escort Perry back to the Koretian capital, since the two of them have become friends. Apparently Perry turned down the offer. I'm not sure why he's staying here." 

"I think he isn't sure where his future lies," I said, remembering Perry's dream. 

"Yes, he has the sort of restlessness I had when I first arrived at the palace." James got down on his knees and began picking up the scattered nuts. "I knew that I wanted to do something other than what I was doing, but I wasn't sure how to achieve it. When I discovered what my true destiny was, there was a moment when I would have given anything to have gone back to being a junior council lord. Of course, I've never told Carle that. It would give him too much satisfaction to—" He stopped and turned his head. 

The High Lord stood in the doorway, looking down upon the Chara, who was positioned on his hands and knees in an attempt to retrieve a nut that had fallen into a crack in the floor. James sat back on his haunches and said calmly, "You know, one of the first warnings Andrew gave me when I became Chara was that you had a custom of walking in on private conversations whenever your name was mentioned." 

"I apologize, Chara." Lord Carle was now staring at the game circle, but he made no comment on our childish play. "I have just received an urgent message from the Koretian High Lord that I thought you would want to see." 

James stood up and came over to take the letter from his hand. Pulling back the sealing wax that had become attached once more, he glanced at the first few lines and muttered something under his breath. I was startled to realize he had uttered a vulgar Emorian curse that was not normally heard on the lips of noblemen. 

He must have sensed my astonishment, for he looked over at me and explained, "Koretia and Daxis are at war again." 

I squeezed my arms around my legs. "Who broke the peace oath?" 

"It's not clear; it was one of those border skirmishes for which both sides are blaming the other. It was inevitable that this would happen, since the border is still undetermined." James scanned the rest of the letter. "Neither of the capitals has been affected by the fighting yet – at least, not at the time that Lord Hollis wrote this. He says that most of the fighting has been in the surrounding countryside; he mentions that the Koretian farms near the Western Gap have been destroyed. —Is that important?" James looked over at Carle. 

"Important for the High Lord, I imagine," said Lord Carle. "His farm is in that area." 

"Or was." James sighed and closed the letter. "The Jackal is requesting what help we can give, though he realizes that we are unwilling to lend troops to either side without clear cause. Do you have any suggestions, Carle?" 

Lord Carle ran his eye over James's conspicuous tunic. "That depends on how important you find it to display your fineries before the people of the Three Lands." 

James flushed. "Would you mind being less cryptic in your suggestions, High Lord?" 

"I mean that my advice would be to hold your enthronement as soon as possible. Of course, that would require you to cut back on your extravagant plans for the ceremony." 

James's frown slowly transformed into a smile. "I knew there was a reason I kept you on as High Lord. What date should we set?" 

"The dominion representatives are already on their way. They were planning to stay here over the winter, rather than brave travelling through the spring floods." Moving forward from the door, Lord Carle walked over to where I was still sitting on the floor and offered me his hand. Feeling as though I had just been chided for my position, I put my hand awkwardly in his and allowed the High Lord to pull me off the floor. He continued, "I fear that we will have to discard the idea of having representatives from the barbarian lands; it would take them at least three months to travel here. Assuming that the snows hold off, the Koretian and Daxion representatives could be here within a month." 

"Let's say the end of next month, then," said James, who had already gone over to the table and was jotting down a note there. "How soon can we get the peace oath to them?" 

"Ten days, if you send your private messenger," replied Lord Carle. 

Unable to bear the suspense any longer, I said, "I don't understand. What peace oath?" 

James was now busy with his pen. It was Lord Carle who replied, "Emor issues a peace oath to other lands when it holds an enthronement. Of course, there is nothing to prevent Daxis and Koretia from continuing to fight each other, since the oath is with Emor and not between the two southern lands. But in fact it is unlikely that they will do so if they accept the Chara's oath." 

James swiftly removed his ring and sealed the two letters he had written. After addressing them, he handed them to Lord Carle. "Here; have Dunne leave with these tonight. Brian can write more detailed letters in the morning, but we had better send these before those two hot-headed lands destroy each other. By all the laws of Emor, the next time I see Andrew I will cheerfully place him under the high doom for allowing this to happen." 

"The Ambassador appears to have shown some forethought in not taking loyalty oaths in any of the Three Lands," Lord Carle said dryly. "Otherwise, it is likely that he would find himself answering charges in three different rulers' courts. Lord Andrew has always had a keen instinct for survival."


	5. Chapter 5

I passed many people in the corridor of the Chara's palace: council lords, guards, soldiers visiting from the palace encampment, servants, slaves. None of them so much as glanced at me. The only person I recognized was Brian, speaking quietly to a strikingly handsome woman who had her hand in his and was laughing at something he said. Their youngest son hovered nearby, listening to the conversation. 

None of them noticed me. I walked past them, feeling, as I had so many times since my arrival at the Chara's palace, the loneliness I had often felt growing up in the King's palace. 

I ought not to be feeling sorry for myself, I knew. The Chara and his High Lord were both generous in sharing their time with me. Indeed, Lord Carle had already invited me to five dinner parties, where I – a woman of ambiguous rank – had listened with interest as Lord Carle's fellow council lords argued amidst themselves concerning how to assist the process of peacemaking in the south. At several points in the conversation, the High Lord had sought to draw me into the debate, but I had demurred, feeling that I was more likely to learn from such conversations than contribute to them. The High Lord had not pressed me during the dinner parties, but he had always taken care to quiz me afterwards, like a tutor checking that his pupil had been properly attentive. 

Brian was even more generous with his time, showing me various workplaces within the palace, but I could not disturb him while he was engaged in family matters. That left me, as it so often did, with no one to talk to and nothing to do except wander endlessly around the east wing of the palace, watching the tapestry of people that the palace attracted: light-skinned Emorians, white-haired officials from Emor's dominions and the barbaric mainland, and the occasional dark-skinned nobleman from the south, who gave me no more than a quick, curious glance before passing on. 

I had nearly reached the end of the corridor and was thinking of turning back and returning to the room where Perry was practicing his harp when I saw her. 

She was dressed in the rough brown cloth of a commoner, a color not often worn in the Chara's palace. She was being turned away from the door of Lord Carle's quarters by his free-servant, who looked offended that she should sully his presence. The four guards standing nearby – the Chara's own guards, keeping watch over the so-called Map Room where the Chara worked in the afternoons – were eyeing her suspiciously. I could imagine their thoughts. A commoner in the palace was bad enough, and any woman was worthy of scrutiny in a palace where so few women lived and visited. A southern commoner woman was beyond the pale. 

I must have made a startled noise; she heard me and turned. Then her face changed. "Princess!" she cried, and started toward me. 

The guards grabbed her. I was surprised by how fast they moved, but not terribly surprised. I knew by now how well trained the Emorian guards and soldiers were – and after all, they had been expecting this eventuality for months. 

Wisely, the Daxion did not resist them as they ran their hands over her, searching for hidden weapons. But there was a look of despair on her face that I well recognized. Without thinking, I said sharply, "Let her go." 

The guards looked toward me, their eyebrows raised. They did not let her go. 

"Release her at once," I said more sharply. "She is my friend." Then, as the guards' eyebrows raised yet further, I added, "She used to serve Lord Carle. She has the right to visit this palace." 

That much, at least, the guards regarded as pertinent information. They looked over at the High Lord's free-servant, who had been frowning as I spoke, but who nodded with apparent reluctance. The guards let their prisoner go and stepped back into place. 

By this time, I had reached Grace. She was shaking. I doubted it was from the winter cold, but lending her my winter shawl gave me the excuse I needed to put my arm around her. I looked about. I dared not disturb the Chara at his work, and while I suspected that Lord Carle would have been willing enough to lend me one of the rooms in his spacious apartment for this interview, his free-servant was still barring the door, frowning. None of the other rooms nearby were familiar to me, and I couldn't take Grace back to my own suite of rooms; Perry would turn shy at the presence of a stranger in the place he used as a refuge from the many strangers in the palace. 

I caught sight of an inconspicuous doorway to a narrow corridor. Well, why not? At this time of year, nobody was likely to be there. The only thing I risked was dying of the cold. 

"This way," I murmured. With my arm still around Grace, I guided my former fellow slave toward the corridor leading to the palace garden. 

Grace came without argument – not that I expected any argument. I had not failed to notice the manner in which she had greeted me before. Still thinking about this, I nearly stumbled when she halted abruptly as we reached the garden. "O-o-o-h," she said slowly, as though she had unexpectedly entered into the presence of the Song Spirit. 

I could hardly blame her. From the outside, the Chara's palace looked enormous – and indeed it was enormous, with hundreds of rooms housing the royal officials, council lords, servants, and various workplaces. But hidden at the core of the palace was something far greater in size than the many rooms: a "garden" thrice the size of Daxis's palace grounds. 

Of course the inner garden was simply a massive version of one of the many gardens I had encountered in Emorton, placed where Daxions would ordinarily put a courtyard or stable-yard. The inner garden was rectangular, its perimeter broken only by a gap in the palace which allowed the Chara a clear view of the black border mountains from his palace window. That gap, I knew, was well guarded. So was the doorway through which we had stepped. One of the guards flanking Grace and me said unexpectedly, "You look cold, Princess." Without awaiting my denial, he stripped himself of his cloak and placed it over my shoulders. 

He was still wearing the heavy leather armor of the palace guards, so I thanked him and steered Grace forward. The sooner she and I had finished our conversation, the sooner I could return the cloak to the guard. 

She was staring at the inner garden with a stunned expression. The Daxion palace grounds were notoriously overgrown with weeds and vines and other such clutter that my father the King had never bothered to send his gardeners to dispose of. The Chara's garden, enormous in scale, looked as though each blade of grass was tenderly cared for. Hedges, well clipped, gave way to stone walls with gates in them. There were no flowers at this time of year, but neither were there any leaves; they had all been swept away. There was only one tree in the garden, which I had thought odd until Lord Carle reminded me about the lack of trees in Emor. Now I steered Grace toward the tree, saying, "The High Lord is in council this afternoon, but we can wait for him here if you need to speak with him." 

This broke Grace's silence finally. She looked over at me; then, with the slightest of movements, she drew herself away from my arm. She dipped her eyes. "I do not want to be of trouble, Princess." 

I sighed. Loudly. This only served to make Grace shrink into herself, as though I had slapped her. Frowning, I concentrated my gaze on the tree we were approaching. Lord Carle had warned me that the tree had a bad habit of dropping branches on passersby, but perhaps the tree recognized me as a fellow southerner – it had been imported from the south – for it had never given me any trouble. I located a particularly sturdy branch it had dropped in the past, sat down on the log, and beckoned Grace down. She sat down stiffly, not looking at me. 

After a couple of minutes more, I said, "The Koretians are a peculiar people. You would think that, with such a powerful ruler, they would be forever in awe of him. After all, the Jackal is a god-man. But instead, they address him by his human name, John, and treat him as one of them. I spent four weeks in Koretia, and by the end of them, I concluded that my father ought to have spent more time in Koretia than he did. I think he could have learned from the Koretians." 

She was watching me out of the corner of my eye, but she did not say anything. 

Exasperated, I said, "Grace, you do realize, don't you, that nobody regards me as a princess except Lord Andrew and a handful of his friends? If I went back to Daxis now, Prince Richard would toss me into the slave-quarters, and Toft would give me a beating for being late to work." 

That roused a reaction from Grace, at least. "The Prince wouldn't dare!" 

"He would," I said grimly. "I've been a slave since I left the royal nursery he and I shared. Nothing has changed, as far as my cousin is concerned – except that he has decided to follow my father's example and force a slave-woman into his bed." 

Which was not entirely fair to my father, I had to admit to myself. I knew, from my father's own testimony, that my father had loved my mother and had married her in the Spirit, which barred me from inheriting the throne but otherwise gave me a royal title. 

I expected Grace to ask about this. I knew, from the tales that Perry and Andrew and I had heard on our journey north, that I was the subject of much speculation in the Daxion palace. Instead, she looked away. A wind was blowing now, steadily from the north. It pushed the hair in front of her eyes and caused both our pairs of eyes to tear. 

I said hesitantly, "Grace?" 

She took a deep breath. Finally she turned back and said, as though continuing a conversation, "You must have met lots of women on your travels." 

"Yes," I said cautiously, uncertain where we were going in this conversation. "Some of the inns we stayed at were run by women. And I talked briefly with a slave-woman in Emorton." Very briefly. It occurred to me, with a shock, that I had never gone back to the bath-house to apologize to Dextra for getting her in trouble with her mistress. Hurriedly, I added, "Lord Andrew introduced me to his sister, Lady Ursula." 

"The Chara Peter's Consort?" For the first time, I caught a glimpse of the young woman I had known in the Daxion palace: her eyes were abrim with curiosity. "What is she like?" 

I tried to tear my mind back to that meeting. "She . . . Well, she seemed very warm and welcoming. I liked her." 

"But what did she talk about? You must have spoken with her many times, since you stayed in the Jackal's palace for six weeks." 

"I— Well, I was rather busy during that time. Lord Andrew was healing from a wound he'd received while helping me to escape. And the Jackal was assisting his people to resurrect his capital city after the fire there; I often accompanied him on his travels around the city. And Perry . . ." 

My voice trailed off. Grace nodded. "I've heard of the bard Perry. It seems remarkable that a Koretian could sing so well. But do you mean to say that, during all those weeks, you never had a chance to speak much with Lady Ursula, who lives in the Jackal's palace?" 

Put that way, it did seem odd. Ursula, I now recalled, had asked me on several occasions to spend time with her. I could not remember what had prevented me from doing so. "I was rather busy," I repeated weakly. 

Grace nodded. "You must have been spending a great deal of time with the Jackal's servants; you have so much in common with them. What are they like?" 

I made no reply. I was remembering a tale, told long ago among the Daxion slaves, of the Jackal's blood brother, who had unexpectedly turned up at a gathering reserved for Koretian servants. 

Andrew, who had once been a slave. 

Grace filled my silence by saying, "But that was six months ago; you've probably forgotten all that. What about here? What are the ladies like in the Chara's palace? And the slaves and free-servants here – have you come to know many of them?" 

I stared at Grace, as I might have stared at the Song Spirit, had she suddenly appeared before me. Grace looked just as I had remembered her: a little plain, a little older than when I had last seen her half a dozen years ago, shortly before my father gave her to Lord Carle. An insignificant slave, discarded without thought. 

Had even I failed to recognize the Spirit's servant when she sung the goddess's song? 

"Grace," I said slowly, "I had no idea when we were together— I knew that you sang to the Spirit, but not that she bid you sing her words. Were you like that when I knew you?" 

She flushed and looked down, clutching my shawl closer, against the wind. She asked softly, "Have I offended you?" 

"Merciful Spirit, no." I put my arm around her. "Far from it. I'm embarrassed beyond words. After all that I went through as a slave-woman in the King's service, how could I have distanced myself from slaves and free-servants and women during all these months?" 

She looked up. I would swear that her startled look was spontaneous, rather than calculated. "But you were always like that," she said. 

o—o—o

The wind whistled about the garden, clear and cold. Above us, the tree branches rattled like bones. 

I said quietly, "Was I? I didn't mean to be." 

By now, Grace was staring again at her lap. It took her time to gather her courage to follow up on that remark. Finally she said, "I don't know what you were thinking. Perhaps you were thinking about us all the time. But when you spoke . . . I'm younger than you, but I used to hear the tales of the other slaves who had served with you when you were a child. They said that, from the moment you first arrived in the slave-quarters, you did nothing except talk about the King. The King and your cousin the Prince; you said you hated the Prince, but you talked about him all the time. Some of the other slaves tried to befriend you, but they gave up after a while. You never seemed interested in anything but your noble relations." 

I said nothing. I was remembering the day – oh, so long ago, it seemed – when I had abandoned the work I had promised Grace I would do on her behalf, because I had sensed the return to the palace of my royal father. 

Grace said, "I don't remember any of that myself. As long as I've known you, you've been quiet. The other slaves said that you'd been quiet since— Well, since that guard was found dead next to your bed. Were you quiet because of him?" 

I shook my head, more out of bewilderment than denial. The dead guard. The one who had tried to rape me when I was fourteen, and whom I'd killed with a hidden dagger. I'd forgotten about that long-ago episode. But that rape – the groping, the panic, the fear for my life – had not forgotten me, it seemed. 

"I liked that you were quiet," Grace confessed. "I thought it must mean you were listening to us. I wasn't sure, though. You said so little, and when you did, it was usually—" She stopped. 

"About my noble relations," I finished for her. I felt heavy inside, as though weighted down by the burden of my carelessly led life. All these years I had thought the other slaves despised me because of my uncertain rank, a matter over which I had no control. It had never occurred to me to wonder whether the other slaves had good reason to despise me. 

Perhaps sensing my thoughts, Grace added hastily, "We don't hate you. I don't know of anyone in the slave-quarters who hates you. You were always ready to help out with the work, and you never said anything which suggested you thought you were better than the rest of us. You even intervened with your father sometimes, when one of us was to be punished. Everyone likes you. It's just . . . I don't know . . . It's as though you've been bedazzled. As though a spell has been cast over you to force you to think about nothing except the King and the Prince." 

I did not need to think far to know where that spell had been cast. This time, I could not even blame the Prince. 

"It was my father," I said slowly. "He loved me, I know, but the form his love took . . . He was very possessive. He wanted my world to center around him. I think he must have taught me to think that way." 

"And now that he's dead?" said Grace softly. 

I thought about it. Andrew. The Jackal. Perry. The Chara. Brian. Lord Carle. During the two seasons since my father died, I had done nothing except center my mind on the welfare of men high in rank. 

Except . . . except that they were not entirely high in rank. Lord Andrew had begun his palace career as a slave. The Jackal and Perry had been born commoners. Brian and the Chara had been born noblemen, but both men had risen far higher in rank than they could have expected. And Lord Carle . . . From what Lord Carle had told me, he too had dealt with the misery of a mixed-rank identity. 

Instinctively, without even thinking why, I had been drawn to men who, like me, had been forced to seek their identities under circumstances where their identities were uncertain. 

"Grace," I said, my voice assured, now that I held the answer, "I think I've been ruled too much by fear. I feared that you and the other slaves would despise me because of my mixed rank. I don't know why I didn't befriend Lady Ursula; she, of all people, would have understood my fears, for she was a commoner once. Perhaps that was partly due to my father turning my thoughts toward men. But now that I know what he did, I can't blame him for any future actions I take. I promise you: I won't distance myself from others again. Especially not from the women and free-servants and slaves. Especially not from you." I reached over and hugged her with my right arm. 

She bit her lip. "I didn't mean for this matter to center upon me." 

"But it does. That's the heart of it. You tried to be my friend, and I did a very poor job of returning your friendship." I kissed her head, still bare of the cloak hood. "Can you stay? We could have dinner together." 

She shook her head, though I could feel her body beginning to relax. "I can't. The guards at the palace wall only granted me a two-hour pass. And Rorie— Well, he didn't like me coming here at all; he was afraid I'd be punished for impertinence. I can't frighten him by staying longer than I'd promised." 

"Rorie?" 

She ducked her head. "A young man my mother hired to take care of the heavy work in our home. He and I are betrothed." 

I laughed, hugging her harder. "So you are man-obsessed as well, these days." 

"A bit." She smiled. "I'd like to see you again some day, if I may. But for now . . ." Her voice drifted off. 

"You've said what you came to say?" I looked at her, puzzled, as the winter wind touched our skin lightly. "Grace, however did you find the courage to come to the Chara's palace and tell me what you did? I would never have found the courage to do anything so risky." 

"But you did," she said simply. "You escaped the King's palace, you sought out the help of a dangerous spy, you begged the Jackal for refuge, and you travelled all the way up to the north to live with the Chara, even though the Prince was hot at your heels. I'd always suspected you were a Princess. A real Princess, not just a pretend one. But now I know. And I thought . . . I thought it was important that you remember all of us. Not just the noblemen." 

o—o—o

I left Grace at the gates to the inner palace wall, where her betrothed was waiting impatiently for her. I was able to give him a reassuring wave before the lieutenant of the gate-guards, obviously concerned about letting me stray this far into danger, insisted on escorting me back to the palace. 

I had time, during that escort, to think about my plans. Brian's family was an obvious place to start: I knew that he had not only a wife but also daughters who were young women now. And with the help of Lord Carle, I might get to know some of the council lords' wives. For that matter, James – who seemed to know all of his subjects intimately – might be willing to introduce me to some of the other noblewomen who lived in the palace. The lower-ranked women – the lesser free-women and the commoners, the servants and the slaves – would prove more difficult to get to know, here in Emor where rank mattered so much. But high-ranked women would be a place to start. Perhaps I could even correspond with Ursula. 

I stopped. Without thinking, I had passed Brian's door and was nearing my own suite of rooms. Faintly I could hear the notes of Perry's harp, beckoning me home. It was tempting to return there and tell him all I had learned about myself, during the short time since I had last seen him. 

Instead, I looked around to see where I was in the corridor. Beside me was the iron-barred door with guards flanking it. I did not quite have the courage to demand entrance to the slave-quarters. But just across from it . . . 

I turned slowly. The door was inconspicuous, with no label upon it to indicate its purpose. I went up to it and knocked. 

Obed opened the door. "My dear, what a surprise!" he said. "Do come in. I am just beginning a late-afternoon repast; you can join me." 

I followed him into the room, taking in, as I had not on my one previous visit, how small Obed's quarters were: just an area where he did his work, with a little sleeping chamber nearby. There were no chairs, except the one behind his desk; apparently he was unaccustomed to receiving visitors who lingered in his office. 

He quickly pulled out the chair for me. "Do you like cider? I know that Lord Andrew has no fondness for it." 

"I'm a Daxion. I love cider, thank you." I watched him pour out the cider with his hands in the position that a woman would take, not a man. I found myself wondering how long it had taken him to train himself to do that, and how hard that training had been. 

He placed the wine cup in front of me. "Pastries?" he offered. 

"Yes, please." 

He piled my plate high with the sweet pastries that Emorians love, then backed away, pretending not to notice he was standing, by the simple act of taking up a broom and beginning to sweep the floor. "Now, my dear, I'm sure you didn't come to visit me in order to steal pastries from me. Do tell me how I can help you." 

I wondered how long it had been since someone had visited him for any reason other than to seek help. Feeling not at all inclined now to steal Obed's meal, I put down the pastry I was holding and said, "I was wondering whether you could tell me what it is like to be an Emorian palace slave. And what it is like to be a—" I hesitated before settling upon the Emorian euphemism. "A half-man." 

"Ah, you wish to discuss Lord Andrew's time here in the palace." Obed paused and settled his chin – her chin? – upon the head of the broomstick. "Well, I will tell you, Princess: He was a most unusual boy. Not really a half-man at all, as I would assess such matters." 

I had made my mind up now. I was indeed curious about Andrew's childhood, but Andrew could wait, and so could James and Lord Carle and all the other noblemen I'd occupied my mind with for so long. "No," I said firmly. "I don't want to hear about Andrew. I want to hear about you."


	6. Chapter 6

"Princess?" 

I turned. I had been peering, somewhat guiltily, through the doorway to the council library, which was stocked with more books than I had ever seen in my life. I half expected to see the High Lord standing behind me, frowning at me for desecrating his council space. 

But it was only Emmett, one of the Chara's guards. Judging from his clothes, he was off-duty. 

"Yes?" As I spoke, I smiled at him. After the mishap between Grace and the guards, I had done my best to get to know all the guards in this part of the palace. I had been rewarded by being invited to dinner on several occasions by some of the younger, low-ranked guards, who seemed happy enough to ignore the fact that I was either an escaped slave or a princess of much higher rank than themselves. Emmett – who had no need to hint at marriage plans – had gone further and invited me to dinner with his wife and daughters. _His_ invitation I had pleasurably accepted, with the result that the younger guards, taking their cue from this, were soon introducing me to their sisters and mothers. Much to the consternation of the young guards, I had invited their sisters and mothers to dine with me. 

Now Emmett smiled back. He was an older man who had served the Chara since the reign of the Chara Peter's father, the Chara Nicholas. It was said that Emmett was the most incorruptible man in Emor, having rejected numerous bribes for entrance to the Chara's living chambers. He asked, "Do you have a few moments, Princess? A visitor to the palace wishes to speak with you." Then, seeing my expression change, he added hastily, "It's not a Daxion. It's an Emorian soldier. I know him; you'll be safe in his company." 

Mystified, I accompanied Emmett back down the corridor leading to the Chara's court, passing a couple of subcaptains as we went. I had not yet visited the army headquarters next to the palace; the Chara had judged me in too much danger to travel beyond the palace walls, unless with armed escort. When walking alone, I was confined to the heavily guarded east wing of the palace, where the Chara and his senior council lords lived and worked. Since the east wing of the Chara's palace is longer than the Daxion palace is tall, this had not seemed much of a deprivation, though I had found myself remembering wistfully my frequent visits to the Daxion army headquarters in the old days. Prince Richard would have been amused, I thought; he had always been much more interested in matters of soldiering than I was. 

Thinking of this, I asked, "Has any news arrived from the south?" 

"Not that I have heard, Princess," Emor replied as he gave the free-man's greeting to a captain who was emerging from the subcommander's chambers near the council room; as highest-ranked of the palace guards, Emmett held the equivalent of a captain's rank. "The last I heard, the Prince was holding his own in battles against the Jackal, which is remarkable, considering the Jackal's skills in warfare." 

"The Prince has skills of his own," I replied, then could have bitten my tongue off for defending the Prince. Yet it was true. My cousin had managed to put down over a dozen rebellions that had been stirred up by my father's mismanagement of the kingdom. Until divinity intervened to send fire upon Richard's soldiers the previous spring, Richard had never ceded a battle – and when he did lose that particular battle, the terms he offered the Jackal for peace had been quite reasonable. 

Except for my return. On that matter, Richard had refused to budge. 

Emmett diplomatically made no reply to my remark, instead saying, "Here we are. I asked him to wait in the sanctuary." 

We were close enough now to see the palace sanctuary's open doorway, and what lay beyond it. I came to an abrupt halt. 

Emmett immediately halted as well, scanned our surroundings for the source of the danger, and then relaxed. "It's all right, Princess," he assured me again. "I know the man. He's Lieutenant Quentin-Griffith—" 

"—of the Chara's border mountain patrol," I said. My throat felt dry. Lieutenant Quentin-Griffith was dressed in civilian clothes too, and there was no sword hanging from his belt. But there was no telling what lay under his tunic. Border mountain patrol guards, Andrew had told me three months before, were among the few men in the Emorian Empire who were authorized by the Chara's law to carry hidden thigh-daggers, the deadly blades favored by spies and murderers. 

"Ah." Emmett's voice changed. "You encountered the patrol on your way here?" 

I nodded, not moving my gaze from the patrol's lieutenant. We had managed to pass the patrol after Andrew offered an impressive display of the Sun God's power. At the time, Lieutenant Quentin-Griffith had seemed to be impressed by this divine demonstration. But Emorians are skeptics, where religion is concerned; afterwards, I guessed, he must have grown angry at being tricked by us. 

And now he wanted to meet with me. 

"Princess, there is no need for you to speak with him, if you do not wish to do so," said Emmett quietly. "He asked it as a favor, nothing more. Indeed, he has no pass to enter the palace. I could expel him, upon your order." 

This was ridiculous. I was making a fuss over nothing. The lieutenant was a loyal subject of the Chara; he was not going to commit murder in the Chara's palace. If he wanted to rage at me a bit for making a fool of him . . . Well, that would help him expel anger that he might otherwise direct at an innocent border-crosser. 

"It's all right," I said in as steady a voice as I could. "I was just taken aback to see him here, that's all." I managed to smile again at Emmett. "Thank you for arranging our meeting; it was kind of you to do so in your leisure time. Do give your wife and daughters my greetings." 

Relieved, Emmett left me at the entrance to the sanctuary. I took a deep breath and walked through the door. 

Based on his past performance, I would have expected Lieutenant Quentin-Griffith to know already that I had arrived. Instead, he seemed wholly absorbed in his surroundings. He was turning to and fro, staring at the sacred objects from Emor's northern dominions that were placed on the walls. As I watched, he turned toward the wall that held the masks of the seven gods and goddesses of Koretia. I saw his eyes widen as he noticed the Sun God's mask. 

Ah. Perhaps he wasn't here to rage at me after all. 

"Lieutenant?" I said. 

He jerked round, then steadied himself with a hand upon the altar. Then, realizing what he had touched, he snatched his hand away. 

His voice was level, though, as he said, "Princess. Thank you for meeting with me. I will not occupy much of your time." 

I hesitated, then decided it was best to be conventional. "I heard that Lord Carle left the palace in a hurry yesterday, to visit your father again. Is your father well?" 

"He is dead." The lieutenant's voice was flat; there was no way I could tell from his tone whether he considered this ill news or good news. 

"I am sorry," I replied. 

Quentin-Griffith's gaze wandered away from me again, as though unable to part from the sight of the sacred objects around us. After a time, he said, "The High Lord was with him when he died. All of us were. It was a good death. My father died in pain, aware to the end." 

It took me time to realize that, for a former patrol lieutenant, dying in awareness of his pain might be considered a good death. Quentin-Griffith spent that time examining the plectrum that Perry had left here after his last visit. Then the lieutenant said abruptly, without looking up, "My father knew the Jackal." 

"Oh?" I did not have to feign surprise. "I did not realize that your father had visited Koretia's capital. Or did the Jackal try to slip by him when he guarded the border?" 

"The Jackal would not have dared to try." For a moment, family pride shone clear in Quentin-Griffith's voice. "No, my father lived for a time in Koretia. My mother is a native of Koretia." 

"I see," I said slowly. I thought I did see, a little. Quentin-Griffith was a loyal Emorian, but if he had grown up in the borderland, with a mother who was born in Koretia, he must have been exposed since childhood to talk of the gods. And if his father, who had also been a patrol lieutenant, had lived in Koretia . . . 

"My father's body was burned this morning according to the Jackal's rite," Quentin-Griffith said, his gaze fixed on that mask on the wall. "At his own request. He asked that his burning be held according to the Koretian god's rite, but that his ashes be scattered in accordance with Emorian funeral tradition: accompanied by a recital of the Chara's burdens. From the Law of Vengeance," he added, evidently feeling he needed to educate the foreigner. 

I waited silently. Finally, Quentin-Griffith returned his attention to me. "I didn't come here with the intention to speak to you," he announced flatly. "I thought Lord Andrew might be here. I wanted the Jackal to know of my father's death . . . if he doesn't already know." 

The last words were muttered under his breath, so low that I barely heard them. I said quietly, "If the Jackal attends the enthronement, I will see whether I can have a private word with him. If the Jackal does not arrive here, I will tell Perry what you said. He is in correspondence with the Jackal." 

The lieutenant nodded. His gaze drifted over to the dominion objects on the wall. He said, "Ever since I grew old enough to have my own opinions on such matters, I have never understood how dominion subjects can claim to love the Chara when they worship gods as well. It seems disloyal. And for my father to ask for the rite of a foreign god . . ." His voice drifted off. 

My mind swam back to a conversation I had held seven months before. I said, "Lord Andrew told me once that the oldest Emorian laws refer to a Lawgiver. Is that true?" 

Quentin-Griffith's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. 

"Well," I said, "perhaps Emor simply has not yet developed rites to honor the Lawgiver. If your land had, I am sure your father would have chosen to be burned by such a rite." 

For a moment, the lieutenant was still. Then he drew his thigh-dagger. 

Only the abruptness of his movement kept me from screaming. I was still trying to get my breath back when I realized that Quentin-Griffith had entirely forgotten about me. He was examining the hilt of the dagger closely, like a seamstress trying to thread a needle. 

I moved forward till I could see what he was looking at. There on the hilt was a tiny emblem of a mountain crossed by a sword. The symbol of the border mountain patrol, I supposed. The same sword appeared in the Chara's seal. Emor was full of symbols . . . 

I grasped suddenly what the lieutenant had seen – what most other Emorians had failed to see, though the Emorians were surrounded by them: symbols of things higher than themselves, like the symbols hanging on these walls. 

The lieutenant slipped the dagger back into his thigh-pocket. "I must return home," he announced. "My mother will have need of me." As he spoke, he pulled out of his thigh-pocket and offered to me a piece of paper, folded and sealed. "From the High Lord. He asked that it be delivered to the Chara." 

"The Chara is in the Court of Judgment now," I said as I took the letter. "I will be glad to give it to him afterwards, if he grants me audience." 

Quentin-Griffith nodded but remained in place, looking at me. I wondered what he was seeing. The Chara had kindly arranged for me to be clothed in the manner of a noblewoman, but otherwise, my appearance was no different from when the lieutenant had last seen me, fleeing from my cousin the Prince. 

The lieutenant said abruptly, with a sudden shift to colloquial language, "I didn't know who you were before. Lord Andrew didn't say." 

"Didn't he?" I shifted to informality as well. "Well, I was in danger then. He was trying to keep my identity hidden till I reached safety." 

Quentin-Griffith's gaze ran over me again, from the jewelled necklace at my throat, past the fine linen gown that fell to my ankles, and finally to the richly designed sandals on my feet. He said, "You don't act much like a princess." 

I sighed. "I'm a slave with an exalted title." 

For the first time, I saw a hint of the lieutenant's usual sharp humor in his expression. "You and Lord Andrew make a good match." 

The same words that Lord Carle had spoken to me. I was still a moment, remembering Andrew's attempt, the previous spring, to disown his own exalted title. That memory surprised me into laughter. 

Lieutenant Quentin-Griffith grinned as he gave me the free-man's greeting. "Give my greetings to the Ambassador when you see him, Princess," he said. "And beg him, please, _not_ to train you in espionage. I have trouble enough with him already, without him doubling my trouble." 

o—o—o

After he left, my smile fell away as I looked again at the sanctuary's sacred objects. 

Long, long ago, Rosetta the Bard had once told me, the Kingdom of Daxis had possessed no courts. Judgment occurred upon the whim of the strongest nobles in the kingdom, including the King or Queen. 

Then – how it happened had been lost to memory – someone had the notion of combining the Emorian system of judgment with the judgment of the Song Spirit. And so courts sprang up in Daxis, ruled over by nobles, and also by the Spirit's bards. No longer would nobles such as the King or Queen use only their own judgment; their judgments would be tempered by the Spirit's songs. 

This was Emor's great gift to Daxis, and Emor had given a similar gift to Koretia, I had learned from Andrew: Koretia had combined its native law with the law of Emor to create a powerful system of courts and judgment. 

And now, it appeared, Koretia was about to give a gift back. 

Not because of Quentin-Griffith alone, I thought. He must be only the latest of many Emorians who had been exposed to the religions of the surrounding lands and had longed for something like that, but had also wished to remain loyal to the Chara. And then Andrew, the great uniter of the Three Lands, had begun to talk about the Lawgiver and how he might be honored. Andrew had persuaded the Chara to permit a sanctuary in this very palace, the heart of the Emorian Empire. It could not be long before like-minded Emorians began to develop their own worship – perhaps not to replace traditional Emorian skepticism, but to stand alongside it, as a sign that worship of the gods was compatible with loyalty to the Chara. 

Koretia's gift to Emor. Koretia had also made an attempt to help Daxis. I remembered the brooch that the Jackal had sent me six years before, showing the royal symbol of Daxis upon the mask of the Unknowable God: the Jackal's promise to aid the King's daughter in her need. He had kept that promise, and had even loosed his hold on his closest companion, so that Perry might bring his song back to the Daxions. So far Perry had only sung Daxion songs, but if he ever had the chance to return to Daxis, might he not invent new songs and introduce the Daxions to the traditions of Koretia? 

Emor had gifted its neighbors. Koretia had gifted its neighbors. And Daxis? 

Daxis remained as it had been for ten centuries: insular, unwilling to offer any gifts to its neighbors. 

I plucked the plectrum lightly, listening in my mind to the Spirit's song. I was wishing, for the first time in my adult life, that I could talk to my cousin. As regent of Daxis, Richard alone had the power to break our people out of our isolation. Would he listen to me if I urged him to do this? 

The Chara's trumpets sounded the noonday. I played with the plectrum for a while more; then I left behind the quietness of the sanctuary and went in search of Perry.


	7. Chapter 7

As I walked through the door into the quarters of the Chara's clerk the next morning, a buffet of cold air met me. Standing side by side at one of the windows, their hair spotted with snow, the Chara and his clerk stared out at the white ground with wistful expressions on their faces. 

I closed the door, unnoticed by the two, as Brian said, "Galen tells me that the pages and scribes are planning to build a snow fort in the inner garden during the noonday break. Perhaps we should join them." 

James gave a sigh as he scooped up a bit of snow from the window ledge and patted it into the shape of a ball. "Do you suppose that the council would take away my throne if I sledded down Palace Hill?" he asked as he tossed the ball up and down in his hand. 

"I doubt that the council could find anyone who'd be willing to replace you," Brian replied, putting out his hand to catch the snowflakes drifting to the ground like feathers. "Certainly Seymour wouldn't take the throne if you offered him the wealth of the Three Lands. He knows he's lucky that you spared his life – especially after Lone Bay Beach." 

"What's Lone Bay Beach?" I asked. 

The two men swung round to look at me. Like me, both were wearing cloaks, since the hypocaust beneath our feet was struggling against impossible odds on this day. Brian wore a plain black cloak, but James was wearing his army cloak, woven in gold so bright that it was as though I were sharing the room with the sun. 

An odd expression had entered James's face. He paused a moment before saying, "Lone Bay Beach is – was – my village." 

Brian had gone very still. His gaze was fixed on James as the Chara carefully set the snowball down on the ledge and said, "When the Chara Peter's cousin Seymour disputed my claim to the throne and declared war against me, my subcommander went to him and swore his loyalty, taking most of the Emorian army with him. I hurried north with what was left of the vanguard, and we met in one of the Central Provinces, Surgano, which was Seymour's original home, as well as mine. Our army was badly outnumbered; there was no hope that we could win. But to make doubly sure, Seymour attacked Lone Bay Beach and captured its baron, my younger brother. Seymour sent word that he would kill my brother unless I surrendered." 

James's gaze drifted away from me. He turned half toward the window, his hand tightening on the snowball as he said in a low voice, "We received witness of Merl's final words. He said, 'The two men for whom I have always been willing to make sacrifice are my brother and the Chara. I rejoice that I am able to offer up my life for both at once.'" 

Brian moved finally, taking the snowball from James's hand and tossing it lightly out the window. He said, without looking James's way, "That was Seymour's downfall. When word travelled that Seymour had executed a fourteen-year-old baron, and that your brother had said those words, the entire countryside of the Central Provinces rose in your support. Fishermen and farmers and merchants all poured into our army camp, offering to fight for us. They were ill-trained in warfare, of course, but it served to even the odds for us. And it weakened the rebels' morale to know that we had the people on our side." 

Under my cloak, I wrapped my arms tighter around my chest against the chill that the two northern-born men appeared not to notice. "But you spared Seymour's life after that?" I said. 

"I had no choice," James replied, tracing patterns on the ledge snow with his bare hand. "It was clear from his trial witness that he had sincerely believed that he was the true heir to the throne and that I was a usurper. He acted as he did out of a lack of clear understanding, so the law demanded that I give him a lesser sentence." 

"The law didn't require you to pardon him and commute his prison sentence," Brian said. 

"No," said James quietly, still looking down at the ledge. "I would willingly have given him a Slave's Death for what he did to my brother and to this land. But, you see, I saw his face when they brought him to my judgment and he witnessed me for the first time with the look of the Chara. I saw the moment when he realized that, by attacking me, he had been attacking the law. That moment will be enough to punish him for the rest of his life." 

Snow landed in soft, wet flakes in tiny pit-a-pats, like the paws of a mountain cub. From somewhere above came a crack, and the jagged blade of an icicle plunged past the window. Cold wind shivered into the room. Brian moved to close the shutters. 

With the shutters closed, the room turned dark. I groped my way to the lantern on Brian's desk but could find no flint-stone there. Brian slipped out of the room and returned shortly with a single candle, which barely lit the area around his desk. 

James sighed. "We should return to work on those documents," he told Brian. "Serva, did you need Brian's services in some fashion?" 

It was a clear hint, and I took a step back toward the door before remembering why I was there. "I'm sorry to bother you, but— It's about Perry." 

Brian's head lifted from the papers he was examining as he stood beside his desk. "Is something wrong with Perry?" 

"I'm not sure . . ." I hesitated, uncertain how to tell my tale. 

"Perhaps you'd best start from the beginning," suggested James, seating himself on the corner of his desk while waving me into one of the chairs. 

I sat, feeling miserably guilty at bothering James on such a day. His public enthronement was tomorrow; no doubt he had much work to do. 

But fear prompted me to ask, "Have you seen Perry?" 

James looked over at Brian. Brian shook his head. "Not since three days ago. We broke our morning fasts together. Has something happened since then?" 

"I'm not sure. I—" I did my best to gather myself together. "The afternoon before last, I was invited to dine with Lady Levina." 

"Oh, dear." James rolled his eyes. "Were you indeed? Did you escape alive?" 

Brian emitted a snort of laughter. "She is somewhat less voracious with women. I assume that Lord Carle introduced her to you?" he said to me. 

I nodded. "He told me she was the widow of a council lord. She was much younger than I expected her to be. I found—" I tried to figure out how to phrase the matter tactfully. "—I found that we had much in common." 

"Because she was Lord Carle's former slave, you mean." James was not at all tactful. "Yes, she slept her way to power. From what I've heard, before she caught her victim she tried to sleep with every powerful man in the palace – even Andrew. I suppose he was your topic of conversation?" 

"No," I said, trying to keep my temper. I did not appreciate the phrase "even Andrew," and I knew far better than James did the desperate measures that slaves were compelled to take in order to escape from bondage. "We talked about the difficulties of adjusting to a new rank. It was a long, interesting conversation; I arrived back to bed well after the palace trumpeters sounded the midnight hour. I didn't try to wake Perry, and I slept in past morning mealtime. His sleeping-chamber door was closed when I awoke, so I assumed he was with you." I looked at Brian, who shook his head. 

James was frowning now. "He didn't come back to your rooms that afternoon?" 

"I don't know whether he did. In the late morning, I went to the council chamber, and then Emmett told me there was someone to see me— Well, it was a busy day, and once again I was late to bed. I didn't want to disturb Perry by waking him. But this morning—" I swallowed, feeling my throat ache. "When our morning meal was delivered, I tapped at his door. He didn't answer. I went in, and everything there was just as it had been two mornings ago, when last I saw him. There was no sign that he had slept in his bed since then." 

"Brian," said James, but Brian was already slipping out the door. A moment later, I heard him speaking softly to Emmett, who was stationed outside, along with the Chara's other daytime guard. 

"Don't worry," James said in a reassuring voice. "If he's anywhere in the palace, Emmett will find him; he has the full power of my palace guard to call upon for the search. And Perry couldn't have tried to leave the palace; the guards at the entrances would have let me know." 

I said nothing, though I could not help but remember that Perry had received the training given to the Jackal's thieves. Even if Perry was a poor spy, that was a relative measure; he still knew more than most men about how to slip out of a building undetected. 

Brian returned. "Emmett has left to give orders to the palace guard. He says it should take no more than a few hours to locate Perry; the palace guard is already at full force, thanks to the enthronement preparations." 

James nodded as he played idly with the Pendant of Judgment hanging from his neck; his usual morning court had only ended a short time ago. "Be sure to let Lord Carle know, so that he can send out the council guards to search the council's portion of the palace. I assume he's back?" 

That reminded me; I pulled out the sealed letter from where I had hidden it, in the valley of my bosom. "He sent a message," I said, offering it to James. "By way of Lieutenant Quentin-Griffith, yesterday morning. I couldn't find you yesterday afternoon to deliver it." 

"I was busy greeting guests to the enthronement," James murmured as he tore open the seal. He read what the letter said, frowning. 

"Is the High Lord delayed in returning, Chara?" asked Brian. 

"I'm not sure," said James slowly. "He says, 'With the Chara's permission, I will conduct the final portion of the funeral rites on his former soldier, Lieutenant Quentin of the Border Mountain Patrol (Retired), in accordance with his family traditions.' With the Chara's permission, indeed. I don't suppose he waited an instant for my reply before setting off— Where has he set off for, Brian? Did the late Lieutenant Quentin have a home village where he was to be buried?" 

Brian had already gone to his bookshelf and pulled a volume from the shelf. He consulted it and said, "Lieutenant Quentin's birth village was destroyed during the Border Wars; it was located next to the pass to Koretia. The lieutenant died in the same borderland village where he has lived for the past thirty years, not far from where he was born." 

"Then Carle must have returned by last night," James concluded. "Brian, when Emmett returns, let him know—" 

"Chara," I interrupted. My mind had flashed back to something Andrew had once told me. "Lord Carle referred to 'family traditions.' Isn't there a tradition in that family whereby its men become patrol guards?" 

"Brian?" As he spoke, James turned to look at where Brian was, now seated behind his desk, perusing the volume he had consulted before. 

"I believe so," said Brian. "Lieutenant Quentin joined the patrol in 931, upon the recommendation of former Sublieutenant Quentin— That would have been his father, I suppose. Lieutenant Quentin took charge of the patrol in 938 and served until 949— Oh, my." 

"What do his records say?" asked James, leaning forward. 

"Not his records." Brian looked up from his pages. "Chara, I only just realized. This is not your standard patrol lieutenant. Lieutenant Quentin led the patrol during the early winter of 940. He is the Snowbound Lieutenant." 

"Heart of Mercy. Are you sure?" There was excitement in James's voice now. "I grew up hearing tales about him." 

"Lord Carle would know." Brian was consulting the book again. "He served under Lieutenant Quentin during that winter. Lord Carle never mentioned that episode, but of course he would not have." 

"No, he is overly modest about his military service," James agreed. "Well, I'll have to ask him this afternoon about that." 

"Chara—" I tried again. 

"Prepare a proclamation about Lieutenant Quentin's service for my next court session," added James. "I want to give the Snowbound Lieutenant due honor. Was he pensioned?" 

Brian flipped a page. "Yes, though his records about that are incomplete. Wait, I recall now; he received his title of retirement by proclamation from the Chara Nicholas. A royal proclamation for military service comes with a lifelong pension, though Lieutenant Quentin did not draw upon that pension for many years. He was absent from Emor during that time; it was not until 963 that we were able to locate him in our borderland." 

"The pension ends at his death? We shall have to see that his widow is provided for. How many children did Lieutenant Quentin have? Are any of them still living at home?" 

"It doesn't say in this volume, but I know that Quentin-Griffith is the eldest. There was also a brother-in-marriage, but he died without issue, so there are no nieces and nephews to provide for. I could ask Quentin-Griffith whether he has any unmarried sisters or underage brothers." 

I was impressed, not only by Brian's ability to immediately provide James with the facts he needed, but also by the degree of James's compassion for the family of a long-ago soldier. But beyond that, I was growing increasingly concerned. For the third time, I attempted to break into the conversation. "Brian, does it say anything about how patrol guards in that family are buried?" 

"Burned," said Brian promptly. "Emorian borderlanders follow the southern custom of cremation. The volume on Lieutenant Quentin's father should tell where his ashes were placed; perhaps there is a family graveyard." Already he was rising, reaching for the proper volume without having to search for it. 

James's brows were creased as he looked at me. "Does something concern you?" 

What concerned me was that Lord Carle was a former soldier, with a distinguished military career and a deep loyalty toward his friends. But I said nothing as Brian opened the volume and flipped to the proper page. 

After a minute, James broke the silence. "Brian?" he said softly. 

Brian raised his eyes slowly. "Chara . . . I regret to report that Lieutenant Quentin's father's ashes were scattered next to the patrol hut." 

The moment of stunned stillness broke as James hurled himself out of his seat and to the window. He flung open the shutters. 

The snow was coming down more heavily than before, the wind whirling it into a blizzard. I could not see as far as the black border mountains, where the patrol hut must be located. But I remembered, with a chill, the mountain winds that never seemed to end. 

"Patrol status," James snapped at Brian. 

Brian had already dived for the appropriate paper on his desk. "Ordered to withdraw from the mountains two mornings ago, after the captain of the Home Division received word through the signal fires of approaching bad weather. The sublieutenant of the patrol reported to the Home Division captain two evenings ago, affirming that all patrol guards were safely out of the mountain." 

"Lieutenant Quentin-Griffith was in civilian clothes when I saw him," I contributed. "He must have arrived home just in time for his father's death." 

"He would normally be the one reporting the patrol guards safe," Brian said. "Chara, do you suppose he knew—?" 

"I doubt it." James was pacing back and forth now. "He probably came to the city in order to make his own delayed report to the captain, leaving behind Lord Carle to care for the ashes until Quentin-Griffith himself could scatter the ashes. And since Carle knew that Lieutenant Quentin's eldest son would be placing himself in danger by entering the mountains— May the high doom fall upon me!" James shouted. 

Now thoroughly alarmed, I said, "He's an old patrol guard. Surely he would know better than to enter the mountains shortly before a snowstorm was due." 

"He might have thought he could outrace the storm," Brian said. "Chara, if he's trapped in the mountains . . ." 

We both looked again at the snow, which was beginning to howl its way into the room. Brian went over to shut the shutters. 

James sighed. "As soon as the weather permits, I'll send Dunne out to the village. If he doesn't meet Carle there or on the way, I'll have Quentin-Griffith call up the patrol and find him. . . . Blast the man! The last thing I need is to lose my High Lord immediately before my enthronement." 

I could tell, from the depth of his anger, that he was worried about a great deal more than simply losing a lord. I looked again at the shuttered window, which was vibrating from the force of the wind. If anyone had ventured into the mountain pass, such as a Koretian who was longing to return home . . . "Chara," I said softly, "you said you were greeting guests to the enthronement. I don't suppose . . . The Jackal isn't here, is he?" 

Startled out of his thoughts, James stared at me a moment before his expression settled into kindness. "No," he said quietly. "If the Jackal were in the palace, that would be the first place I'd have looked for Perry. You needn't worry, though; none of the Koretian party was surprised by the blizzard. I sent word by way of Dunne— They received it?" 

Brian already had the appropriate paper in hand. "Yes, Chara. The High Lord of Koretia had just reached the head of the pass when Dunne found him. Lord Hollis sent his thanks for your warning of the coming storm and agreed that it would be best for his party not to travel through the black border mountains, since they could not travel as swiftly as a royal messenger. The High Lord sent his regrets that he and the other Koretian members of the party would be unable to attend your enthronement, since they could not enter Daxis to cross the border into Emor in that fashion." 

"And the Jackal is still back in the capital, in case Daxis's subcommander breaks the peace," James concluded. "No, it wasn't the Koretians I was greeting yesterday. It was the Daxions." 

The room suddenly seemed a great deal colder than it had been before. I pulled my shawl tighter about me. "The Prince?" I said. 

"And the remainder of his party. Now, hear me, Princess." His voice turned formal, James came over to stand by me. "I assure you, there is no danger. The Prince and his party are housed in the west wing of the palace. I made very clear to the Prince that none of them were to approach you, and that if you were harmed or abducted during their stay here, I would consider it an act of war and would place whoever was to blame under arrest. I believe that the Prince treated my words with due seriousness. He assured me that neither he nor any of his party will harm or abduct you. And just in case he is lying, I have doubled the patrols in the east wing. I don't plan to place guards at your door, lest that alert the Prince to where you're staying, but if you wish to remain in your chambers . . ." 

I shook my head. "I need to help find Perry." 

James nodded. "As long as you remain in the east wing, you'll be safe. The Daxion party won't be entering the east wing until the enthronement tomorrow." 

"I think they're rather busy, as it is," said Brian. He had been moving papers as we spoke, placing them in a pile at the edge of his desk; now he picked up his pen. "When I arrived to announce your visit to them, Chara, I interrupted a furious argument between the Prince and his High Lady. I gather that the High Lady was not at all happy about the fact the Prince is continuing to court his Bard. That goes against Daxion law," he added for the benefit of James, who was looking confused. 

"The Bard and the Consort aren't supposed to be the same person," I explained. "I don't think Eulalee wants to be the Prince's Bard in any case. I think she would far rather marry him." 

"But she can sing well, can't she?" The Chara continued to look confused. "She sang a little song of greeting when I was there. Her voice sounded lovely to me." 

"There's more to being a Royal Bard than sounding lovely," I replied, somewhat sharply. I was impatient to leave in order to find Perry; I had visions of him stumbling into Richard's path and being taken hostage. "You might as well say that a ruler need only give orders to be a ruler. Then you end up with a disobedient ruler." 

The pen in Brian's hand snapped. James, who had begun to reach for the pile of papers, froze in mid-touch. His gaze met Brian's. 

Too late, I recalled that the secret Emorian document, to which Andrew had alluded during our journey to Emor, was related in some manner to a disobedient Emorian ruler. I said quickly, "It's a song. The Song of the Disobedient Ruler. It tells of a Daxion ruler who disobeyed the Song Spirit and had his royal powers taken from him." 

This did not seem to reassure the two Emorians before me; I saw them glance at each other again. Finally Brian cleared his throat and said, "Perry told me a few weeks ago that something similar nearly happened to the Jackal. On that occasion, though, the Jackal merely received a bad dream." 

A dream. I knew which dream Perry must have been referring to: the same dream that the Jackal and Perry and Andrew had all dreamed, in differing manners. In Perry's version of the dream, Andrew and I took Perry away from the Jackal. All three men had spoken to me about the dream. Andrew had spoken of how Perry's nightmare was the result of the Jackal's disobedience to the gods. . . . 

"Serva," said James quietly, "did Perry say anything to you about this, when you last spoke to him?" 

I tried to think back that far. "No. He and I were together, the morning before last. We talked about music, but not about that song. We talked about the war in Koretia too. He was busy tuning his harp, so I read him the Jackal's latest letter, which Dunne had just delivered—" 

"Did it mention disobedience?" asked James quickly. 

I shook my head quickly. "I don't remember anything like that. It was mainly about times that the Jackal and Perry had spent together in the past. About how much the Jackal had enjoyed their time together." The letter had read, in fact, like a farewell letter of love. I had been in tears by the end of reading it. Perry had said nothing, but he had clutched at his harp. I tried to pull myself together. "There were some passages in it about the war; Perry had written to John, asking whether any of his friends had been harmed in the war. And Perry had told John about how some of the greatest bards invent songs, so John suggested he invent a song—" 

"Invent?" said James. 

"Create a song." There was relief in Brian's voice. "Perhaps that's why he has gone missing, then. Couldn't he have hidden himself away in order to compose a song?" 

It would not have taken Perry two days to invent a song, but I was tired of talking. I said simply, "I should leave you to your work, Chara. If you could let me know if Perry is found . . ." 

"Yes." There was no mistaking the nature of heaviness in James's voice. I had heard it before, in the voices of my father and the Jackal. It was the weariness of a ruler burdened by the weight of all the troubles in his land. "Yes, I'll let you know if he is found . . . or if anything else happens." 

Anything else. So much was happening at the moment. James's public enthronement, whose success or failure would help to determine his future as the Chara. Perry's disappearance, and his longing for home. Lord Carle's dangerous trip into the snowbound mountains. Koretia's continued war with Daxis. The Prince's quarrels with the High Lady, and his presence in the same palace where I had taken refuge against him. 

And above all, Andrew's continued absence. It was absurd of me, I knew, but I could not help but feel that the world was falling apart because I had driven the Koretian Ambassador into hiding. 

o—o—o

A few minutes later, I stepped out of quarters of the Chara's clerk and looked around, trying to decide where to start my search. 

The corridors were busy with slaves moving furniture and decorations in preparation for the enthronement the next day. A young Daxion slave-woman – her rank clearly marked by the backless tunic she wore – approached, her arms full of kindling. Most slaves in the Chara's palace were from the Emorian dominions, children or grandchildren of rebels in earlier wars. I supposed that, like Grace, this woman must have been a present from a Daxion nobleman. 

She was struggling to keep the kindling in her arms. I stepped forward with a greeting on my tongue, ready to help the Daxion woman with her burden. 

But when she saw me, her eyes dipped, and she curved her path to avoid me. I stood still, watching her go. Despite all my best efforts, I'd had no luck, during the weeks since Grace's visit, in befriending any of the palace slaves. 

I'd had better luck with some of the council wives, who were ever eager for womanly gossip from the south. Their lives struck me as very narrow, for their husbands never discussed high matters with them. But I reminded myself that no man had ever discussed domestic matters with me, and so I did my best to learn from them about the daily lives of Emorian noblewomen, centered on ordering their households, supervising their servants, and caring for their children. 

Brian's wife I had liked most of all, for she had proved to be an intelligent woman with a naughty sense of humor and a lively interest in her husband's work. Brian, I was unsurprised to learn, did not follow the Emorian custom of keeping his wife ignorant of high matters. His wife and I had spent many an afternoon talking about life in all three of the palaces of the Three Lands. 

But all of our conversations had taken place when Brian's wife made a special effort to visit the palace. Ordinarily, she and her children lived in the city, where I could not go without endangering myself. The families of the council lords and guards lived in the back of the palace, where I could also not go without endangering myself, for that was where the Prince and his party were currently housed. Sighing, I turned back toward my room. On second thought, Emmett's guards would have much better chance than I would of locating Perry; it would be wiser for me to wait in our chambers, in case he returned. I had a letter awaiting me there from Ursula, who had responded so quickly and so eagerly to my initial missive that I had been ashamed of myself for my prior silence. 

Her letter – delivered by Dunne when he brought the peace oaths back from Koretia and Daxis – was filled with news of war. She said:  


> _No man here talks about anything except whether Koretia should own the mountain we're quarrelling over. Even John forgets about ravished women and orphaned children unless I remind him – as I do, as often as I can – of the consequences of this war that the men are waging. I sometimes wish that the Owl or the Cat, or even the Moon, would manifest herself in our land, so that John would have a goddess-woman to listen to. I'm quite sure that a goddess would be less approving of war than the Jackal is._
> 
> _Of course, Andrew would never stand for any of this nonsense, but not even the Jackal's god-eyes can locate where Andrew has gone. John says that he thinks Andrew must have placed himself under the care of another god, but John simply shakes his head when I ask him whether Andrew remains alive or has gone to the Land Beyond._
> 
> _If you ever see Andrew again, I know that I can count upon you to take care of him – and Perry as well, of course. . . ._

  
It was such an odd way to put it – as though Andrew, Ambassador of Koretia, was in special need of care – but by this time I thought I understood why Ursula felt this way. I was musing upon this, and not really paying attention to where I was going, when the urgent sound of a guard's voice caught my attention. 

He was thrusting himself in front of a woman – why, I was not sure, for it was clear that the woman did not intend to make a fuss. She caught my eye, grave-faced, and inclined her head slightly in greeting. 

She was standing where Grace had been, just outside the High Lord's rooms; no doubt she had been seeking to speak with Lord Carle, not realizing his absence. I looked around quickly, but there was no sign of the remainder of the Daxion party. 

More guards were hurrying forward; it was clear they regarded the woman's presence as an emergency to be dealt with accordingly. The woman watched me, making no effort to break past their barrier. 

My throat was dry, and my heart hammered. It took great effort to move forward. Ignoring the guards, I moved within speaking distance of the woman and knelt. 

"High Lady," I said, "did you wish to speak with me?"


	8. Chapter 8

"So how long did you and the High Lady talk?" asked Brian late that afternoon as he leaned over the desk of one of his scribes to check the work which the boy had done that day. 

"Until the mid-afternoon trumpets. Emmett had guards placed in front of Lord Carle's quarters while she and I talked, so we weren't disturbed. I thought that Lady Elizabeth would want to know why I had run away or what was taking place between me and the Prince, but all that she asked was what I had seen on my travels through Daxis and what my impressions were of Koretia and Emor." 

Brian had been flipping through a stack of documents. Now he put three of the pages in front of the scribe and said, "C-careless work, Prodicus. Your lines look as though they're about to slide off the side of Palace Hill. Do you expect the Ch-chara to stand at an angle while he signs these?" He smiled at the scribe, and the boy gave a nervous giggle before murmuring an apology. "That's the second time this week you've had to redo pages," Brian continued with a more serious expression. "I'm afraid you'll have to stay b-behind tonight to do the work; the Chara needs these proclamations for Wednesday's court. When you're through, come by my office, and I'll show you how to k-keep your lines straight." 

Brian waited until we had left the scribe's room and closed the door before saying in a low voice that would not carry, "Political appointment – Prodicus's father is an influential town baron. The boy has no gift whatsoever for the work, but he tries hard to please, and he'll be able to get a good court position when he comes of age if he puts in his time here. All that I have to do is keep him from scribing every slave in this land free; he nearly did that in a proclamation I had him copy last week. . . . So Lady Elizabeth didn't say why she wanted to talk to you?" 

He pushed open the next door. The scribe in the room jumped up quickly from his desk, pushing a piece of paper into his desk's cubbyhole as he did so. He stood stiffly beside his desk as Brian came over to inspect his work. 

"No, and I didn't dare ask her," I said. "She acted as though her only interest was in finding the best Daxion inns to stay in and what ceremonial customs she should observe here in the palace and what clothes to wear to an Emorian council meeting. She asked me what I liked and disliked about Koretia and Emor." 

"What d-did you tell her?" Brian asked without looking up from the sheet he was examining. 

"I told her I liked the Koretians' piety and how easy it was for common folk to be able to come to the palace and discuss their problems with the Jackal and his council lords. I told her that I didn't like the fact that every Koretian I met seemed to be hiding something important from me." 

Brian smiled at me. The he turned abruptly. With a flick of the hand, he pulled the hidden paper from the cubbyhole. The scribe made a small sound of protest, then bit his lip and watched as the clerk examined the page. The clerk took only a glance at the piece of paper before crumbling it into a ball and saying to the scribe, "When you have learned to produce more than five pages a day, and when you have learned to do so without blotting every third word, then you will be in a better position to steal the Chara's best paper and ink to write love letters to your girl. Three silver pieces' fine for the supplies, and a week's leave without p-pay." 

"But, _sir_ —" The boy raised his voice before stopping short at Brian's look. 

"Would you rather that I send you to the Chara for your discipline?" said Brian. "It will come to that, you know, the next t-time that you disobey my orders. I can't have the high court documents of the land being scribed by a boy who continually breaks palace law." 

He gave the boy no chance to answer but swept toward the door and slammed it shut when I had barely made it through to the passage. "What that boy needs is a good beating," said Brian, "but I don't have the authority for that. What did you tell Lady Elizabeth about Emor?" 

"That I didn't like the Emorian methods of discipline." 

Brian stopped in front of the next door and looked at me with such forlorn uncertainty that I laughed and said, "I was just teasing you. For an Emorian, you're quite gentle with those under your care." 

"So you don't think my standards for my subordinates are as high as Lord Carle's?" Brian said with a tentative smile as we entered the next room. 

"Blessings of the Spirit, no!" I said fervently. "Actually, I used Lord Carle as an example of everything that I liked and disliked about this land. Carle is a law-loving, peace-loving man with tremendous loyalty to his ruler and his friends – and he's also the most prejudiced and cruel man I've met in my life. He seems to exemplify the best and worst aspects of Emor." 

"You're judging Carle mainly on his past," said Brian, leaning over to examine the placement of items on the scribe's desk. "Actually, he has started to acquire a reputation for mercy. His servants are shocked by the change in him since his trial." 

"Even so, I don't see how such characteristics fit together – how he can be a peacemaker and stern in discipline at the same time." 

"Andrew and I had a conversation about that once." Brian laid his fingers on the stack of papers on the desk but did not pick them up. "I'm sure these are fine," he said to the scribe. "Will you have time to scribe a confidential letter for the Chara on the day after tomorrow?" 

"Yes, sir, but don't you usually do those?" the scribe asked, continuing to stand at alert by his desk as he had been trained to do. He was older than the other scribes, about James's age. 

"Yes, but this letter is going to Lord Hyperides, and your Marcadian is better than mine. How is your Ancient Emorian coming, by the way?" 

"Quite well, sir; I think I have the vowel changes mastered. Listen, about this proclamation—" He turned and pulled a page from the stack. "I don't understand why the Chara uses the court case in the Chara Rowland's reign to support his proclamation. Wouldn't the proclamation in the Chara Peter's reign have been a better example?" 

"Which proclamation?" asked Brian, frowning down at the paper. 

"Why, the last one, sir; the one in which the Chara Peter changed the rules of succession. He interpreted the word 'kinsman' in the law-structure to mean 'chosen heir.' Wouldn't that support the Chara James's interpretation of this section of the law-structure?" 

Brian looked up from the page. "That proclamation hasn't been bound into the law books yet. Where did you see it?" 

"Well, sir, you said that I could browse through the documents room. I found the proclamation next to—" He stopped, and his eyes slid over toward me. 

Brian was silent a moment before saying, "I d-didn't realize that your Ancient Emorian was that good. Have you told anyone what you found?" 

"Of course not," said the scribe indignantly. "The documents in there are confidential." He added more hesitantly, "I didn't even plan to mention it to you, because I thought it was something I shouldn't have seen." 

"You shouldn't have – but don't worry, because you're the one person I'd trust with that knowledge. When you see the Chara next week, be sure to tell him that you saw it." 

"He won't—" The scribe fell silent and stared for a moment at the neatly scribed sheets on his desk. There were circles under his eyes, a common feature on the faces of high officials, but one I had not seen among any of the lesser officials, since they kept shorter hours. 

Brian waited, and then said, "Won't what?" 

"He won't be angry, will he? I mean, angry enough to stop my elevation again?" 

Brian had a slight smile on his face as he said, "What makes you think he stopped your elevation last time?" 

"But if he didn't, then . . ." The scribe's voice trailed off as he looked up at the clerk. 

Brian said quietly, "I asked the Chara to delay appointing you to a higher post because I need your service here. You can be sure that, when the right moment comes, you'll receive the rank you deserve." 

The scribe remained silent, his gaze on the desk, and the fingers of his right hand separating the barbs of his quill. Brian added, "Give the Chara your suggestion about the proclamation as well. He'll be pleased; he and I missed that possibility when I helped him compose the proclamation." He took a sharper look at the scribe's face and said, "And get a full night's sleep tonight, Otho. You want to be fresh for tomorrow's ceremony." 

The scribe managed a smile then and nodded his head as he turned to pick up a sheet of paper that had not yet been neatly copied. Brian remained silent till we were back in his room with the door closed; then he said, "Poor fellow, kept working among boys half his age. Well, the Chara will relieve his mind next week." 

"How so?" I asked, looking down at the desk beside me, which was filled with papers. Amidst the pages of neat handwriting that I recognized as Brian's, I could see a shaky, carefully-practiced hand that had copied down several lines of Koretian before stopping mid-word. The word was "Jackal." 

I felt a pang in my heart. The palace guards had so far found no trace of Perry. 

"The Chara plans to dictate to him a letter telling of my transfer to the Marcadian governor's palace next spring." 

"So you've decided to become the governor's clerk after all?" I said, looking over at Brian, who was moving stacks of paper from the chairs in the room. 

Brian nodded. "I have no choice, really. It's the only posting I can take that will allow me to keep my present rank. I just hope that my family doesn't die of the cold and that my children don't pick up any barbarian mannerisms; we'll be so close to the border that it worries me. And of course there seems to be a rebellion in the dominions every other year; it's not the safest place to raise children. But I digress. The point is that the Chara plans to name my successor to the post of Chara's clerk in his letter." 

I smiled as Brian waved me into the now-emptied chair. "And your successor is Otho." 

"James wants to present the news as a surprise. His sense of humor can be boyish at times." Brian sat down behind his desk. "By the spirits of the dead Charas, I need a break. I've been doing nothing but rush about the palace all day. What was it that we were discussing before?" 

"The conversation you had with Andrew about Emorians." 

"Oh, yes. Andrew had asked me once why I thought that Emor was such a peaceful land. We have trouble in the dominions and along the mainland border, but if you leave aside James's fight for the throne, Emor hasn't had a war within its borders for several centuries. I told Andrew that I thought it was because of the strong discipline every Emorian learns – discipline of law and discipline of rank. Everyone knows their place and what is expected of them, so that when problems arise, they never become serious problems." 

"I can see how the law helps with that," I said. "Emorian law seems to cover every aspect of life. But how does Emorian ranking help keep the peace?" 

Brian reached forward and thumbed his way through one of the stacks of papers that towered on his desk like the black border mountains between Emor and the southern lands. He pulled out several sheets, shuffled through them, and said, "Here's what I mean. This is a list of the major trials at which the Jackal sat in judgment this year, and it includes a case where a lesser palace official actually punched the Jackal to the ground. Of course, that sort of thing can happen even when the ruler of a land is as well guarded as the Chara is, but the details of the case reveal that the official – a man by the name of Barlow – struck the Jackal in the midst of a heated argument he was having with his ruler over a command he had been given. The argument actually went on for several minutes, with the Jackal trying to convince the official to change his view on the matter." 

I said hesitantly, "Perhaps it wasn't an important issue, and the Jackal didn't see any great urgency in enforcing his command." 

"Oh, I'm sure that's true. From the stories I've heard of the Jackal, I'm certain that no one defies him when he gives a command he definitely wants kept. But my point is that such an argument could never have taken place in Emor. No lesser official would dare to contradict the Chara when given an order. By the Sword, _I_ would scarcely dare to do so." 

"And does Andrew ever contradict the Chara?" I asked. 

"Well, he's a nobleman," said Brian easily. 

"He was the Chara Peter's slave once. Or did he never argue with the Chara in those days?" 

Brian had been leaning back in his chair, fanning himself with the sheets against the small amount of heat working its way up through the tiles. Now he leaned forward, placed the papers carefully on the desk, and said, "No, he defied his masters in those days too. That's why he got into such trouble with Lord Carle. But you see, he's a Koretian. The Koretians are great fighters." 

"Andrew's a great peacemaker, from what I've heard." 

Brian smiled and placed one ink-stained hand on a pile of papers, pressing it down so that he could see me better. "It's not fair to bring Andrew into the argument; he's unique. He was able to see what I was telling him, yet he also pointed out that there was an uglier side to Emorian discipline: the cruelty of men like Lord Carle who have carried discipline too far. He says that every land has qualities which, if practiced one way, are of great merit, and if practiced another way, are of great shame." 

"That's why I asked about the ranking," I said. "The Emorian custom of branding every man with an indelible rank disturbs me. Take the eunuchs." 

Brian looked suddenly uneasy. He reached over to pick up a scrap of paper that had been cut from a longer sheet. "Wh-what about them?" 

"There are dozens of them in this palace; it's amazing. I asked Obed to introduce me to some of them, and I think I've come to know most of them by now, but I keep meeting new ones." 

Brian flicked his thumb across his mouth in order to wet it so that he could acquire a firmer grip on the scrap of paper. This action caused a thin trail of black ink to impress itself upon his lips. "It's a sign that the Ch-chara has shown a slave mercy, actually. You know that slaves who are condemned to the high doom in this land are sentenced to death by torture. The Chara has no choice but to pronounce the high doom if the evidence shows the slave's complete guilt, but the custom has arisen over the centuries of allowing the Chara to intervene after the first stage of torture, if he believes that the slave is repentant of his crime. The first stage of torture is g-gelding; hence the presence of so many eunuchs in this palace." 

My only reply was a cold stare. After a moment, Brian's gaze fell. He said in a low voice, "Well, no, I d-don't much care for the practice either. In fact, I urged the Chara Peter to proclaim the abolition of the Slave's Death, but he said that that would require him to rewrite the law books. Now that James is contemplating doing that very thing, there's some hope that we may be able to rid this land of our most barbaric laws." 

"Will he do it?" 

"He keeps putting it off, so it's hard to say. Anyway, I don't see what the eunuchs have to do with Emorian ranks. There are eunuchs who are slaves and there are eunuchs like Obed who are lesser free-men. It's not a rank in itself." 

"That's what is so odd. They're of different ranks, yet they all act alike." I sprang to my feet, swung my hip to one side, perched my hand delicately on that hip, and said in a high voice, "Oh, my _dear_ , I can't tell you how _exquisite_ you look in that gown. You _must_ whisper me the secret of where you bought it so that I can get one of my own." 

Brian burst into laughter as I reseated myself, wriggled my hips, and placed my fingers daintily atop my knees. Feeling somewhat ashamed of myself, I said in my normal voice, "I don't want to sound as though I despise them. Obed has described for me the steps he took after his gelding to blend in with the other eunuchs; it was a difficult self-training, and I admire him for it. But why should such a training have been necessary at all? Name for me just one eunuch who doesn't act like that." 

Brian opened his mouth, and then shut it again quickly. "Exactly," I said. "Andrew is the one exception, as usual. He wouldn't act as eunuchs are supposed to, any more than he would act as Emorian slaves are supposed to. Maybe some of the eunuchs would act that way if they had the choice – when I asked Obed about this, he seemed positively relieved not to have to act like a normal man – but most of them are just acting out the rigid roles you Emorians have imposed on them." 

"All right," said Brian, leaning back in his chair. "I see what you're saying. But there's another side to it, you know. When I was helping Lord Carle with his memoir, he told me what it was like for him when he first became a council lord. He was the first lesser free-man to be appointed to the council in eighty years; everyone in the palace was waiting for him to make a fool of himself. He told me that if there hadn't been fixed, time-honored rules of behavior for noblemen, he never would have been able to learn how to act in accordance with his new rank. Rigid rules aren't always bad, you know." 

"But what if you've changed rank, like Lord Carle or Andrew? Are you supposed to pretend that your past life was of no importance?" 

Brian did not reply for a moment. Through his window, faint under the continued howl of the blizzard, came the blast of the final trumpet call during daylight. I heard a banging of doors outside in the clerk's passage, and then a sound of light chatter as the scribes met each other there and began chatting together while they made their way toward the palace corridor. Brian waited until the voices had disappeared before saying, "We're not really talking about Carle or Andrew here, are we?" 

I concentrated my gaze on one of Brian's quills. His voice continued to drift quietly over the desk. "Serva, I don't know how to advise you. My change in rank wasn't great enough for me to empathize with your problem. I'm still what I was when I was born: a lesser free-man of noble blood, the youngest son of a town baron. You might be happier living in Koretia, but Andrew isn't content to stay there, so I'm not sure that you would be either. Perhaps you should stop trying to change the world and instead find a way to come to peace with your mixed rank." 

I raised my head then to look steadily at Brian. "The two goals aren't incompatible, you know. Andrew has found a way to live with what he is, but he hasn't stopped trying to change the Three Lands. Has he told you about his idea for a peace conference?" 

Brian nodded and reached forward to start straightening the items on his desk. "I was there when he discussed it with James. I'd very much like to attend such a conference if it ever occurs – but with Koretia and Daxis at war with each other, it may be years before a meeting like that takes place." 

"If such a meeting took place, it might _prevent_ future wars, by helping the people of the Three Lands to understand each other. At least," I added with a grin, "that's what I told the High Lady. I'm sure that she appreciated my expert advice on high matters." 

"I'm sure she did." Brian smiled as he spoke, but something about the tone in his voice made me look sharply at him. He looked down at the desk before him – he was well skilled in the art of avoiding scrutiny – and placed carefully to one side Perry's handiwork. "How else did you advise her?" 

I hesitated, but there was no mockery to Brian's words, so I replied, "She asked me what I would do if I found myself in a position of power in Daxis. I suppose she anticipates that the Prince will make me his mistress. I didn't want to tell her that I'd slide a blade into my own heart before that happened, so I simply said that, if I had power to make the Prince listen to me, I would convince him to free his slaves." 

"Only the Prince's, or all of the slaves of your land?" Brian smiled as my eyebrows shot skyward. "Your thoughts and Andrew's are much alike," he explained. "I know that is one of Andrew's wishes, to see slavery abolished from Emor. He has tried to persuade James to outlaw slavery here." 

I shook my head. "Daxion law doesn't work like Emorian law. Our laws are built by tradition and by the songs which embody that tradition. The King is part of that tradition, though. If the Prince were to free the palace slaves he inherited from my father, it's likely that others would follow his lead." 

Brian reached over to his pen, lying still on the desk, smoothed the feathers, and dipped the quill into an open inkwell nearby. He scribbled a few aimless lines between the words that Perry had scribed, and then placed the pen to one side and closed the inkwell. 

I asked, "What is on your mind?" 

Brian shook his head, as though trying to free his trapped thoughts. "I was thinking that Andrew has never spoken to me about his years as a slave. I was thinking also that I have never asked him about those years." He tapped his fingers on the paper slowly before saying, as though at random, "Marcadia has slaves." 

I said nothing. After a moment, Brian sighed and said, "I want my children to grow up in a land where they will become law-lovers; that is what is most important to me. But aside from that . . . Forgive me, Serva, if I show my ignorance here, but I've always thought that slaves – the palace slaves, at any rate – are better off than many free-men. There are free-men in my father's town who live less luxurious lives than the slaves here do, and as for having slave-masters – well, a master is a master. None of us are truly free who have masters. Even the Chara is servant to the law." 

I drew in my breath and released it twice before I was able to find the words that would lead down the path to the heart of an Emorian. Speaking carefully, I said, "Do Emorian slaves receive the privileges of the Chara's law?" 

Brian gazed down at the paper. "Yes, of course. The laws cover the rights of both free-men and slaves." After a moment more, he picked up the pen again and, with the ink barely visible this time, copied a word Perry had scribed. The ink ran dry before he was finished. Without looking up, he said, "Not all the laws." 

I waited. When Brian finally raised his head, his eyes seemed more shadowed than before. He said slowly, "There is no law to prevent a slave-master from doing what Carle did to Andrew. Andrew told me that once. He said that, when he and the Chara Peter were boys, they once spent an entire night trying to locate such a law." 

Through the shuttered window behind us, few sounds arrived. The Chara's trumpets would not sound again until midnight; the palace gates were closed now to all but the most urgent visitors. I thought of the Prince, settling down for the evening in the west wing of the palace, and I wondered whether he would spend the time in anger or indifference. For reasons that my spirit would not allow me to grasp, the second possibility made me more uneasy than the first. 

Brian had risen from behind his desk. I shook myself free from my worries, and rose too, noting that the shadow remained upon Brian. He said, "Do you mind if I tell the Chara of our conversation? I think that this is something he should know." 

"In case I become the Prince's mistress?" I laughed. "Of course – feel free to tell him. I'm sure he'll appreciate my mighty wisdom in high matters." 

Brian did not smile. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. And in that moment, for no reason that I could discern, I heard Brian's voice say in my thoughts, "James wants to present the news as a surprise." 

I smiled and bid Brian good night; once in the corridor, I did nothing more than to walk back to my guest chamber, weaving my way around the slaves carrying banners and barriers toward the Court of Judgment. I had no reason to distrust James's motives for protecting me; nor did I believe that he had lied to me during my stay. But it had occurred to me in Brian's chambers that the Chara's decision to invite the Prince to his enthronement might be part of a subtle game he was playing with his one-time ally. And I might be the central player in that game. 

I only wished that I knew what my role was to be.


	9. Chapter 9

I could not fall asleep that night; my mind was on Perry, who remained missing. Lord Carle remained missing too; despite his great skills as the Chara's private messenger, Dunne had been unable to reach the borderland through the blizzard winds, while the High Lord had not demonstrated his own skills by returning to the palace. All this was enough to keep me wide awake. 

But I doubt that I could have slept in any case, for the corridors were ringing with the sound of heavy furniture being moved, decorations being set in place, last-minute guests arriving and hurrying to see the Chara before his quarters were closed at midnight, and slaves and free-servants anxiously exchanging information about what would happen the next day. I put my head-cushion over my head and tried to concentrate on sleep; then I felt the mattress sag as someone sat down beside me. 

With relief, I turned over and said, "Perry, where have you—?" 

My sentence ended in a choke that might have come from Perry's throat. Sitting a hand's length away from me was the Prince. 

He put his hand over my mouth before I could scream. I would have tried to scream in any case, except that his hand was as light as a veil across my face. 

"Princess, I beg you not to cry out, for my life's blood is under your care," he said softly and rapidly. "If you cry out, the palace guards will come and arrest me, and if I am arrested, the Chara will dispense with the formality of a trial and send me straight to the execution yard, thus causing war between Emor and Daxis. If you have any love for your land, you will stay quiet. I assure you, I mean you no harm." 

His hand, which was quite cold, withdrew from my face. Pulling up my bedcovers to hide myself better – I was dressed only in my shift – I whispered, "What are you doing here?" 

"I want to talk to you. I realize that this isn't the best of times and places to do so, but then, you've avoided all the other opportunities I've offered you for the past eight months." 

I could see his face in the firelight. His lips were twisted into their familiar smile; the only thing unfamiliar about him was the diadem shining like clear water across his dark hair. I could still hear voices the corridor; if I cried out, they would come at once, as Richard had said. Knowing this gave me the courage to ask, "Why should I want to talk to the man who tried to imprison and rape me?" 

Richard's smile deepened. He said lightly, "Why, because you and I have so many important events to discuss. Let us start with the night when I countermanded the King's command that Subcaptain Derek use his methods of persuasion on you to convince you to marry me." 

It was a blow across the heart. It took me a while to recover my breath. Then I said, "I don't believe you. It's a lie. My father loved me." 

"The last time you spoke with your father, he struck you across the face; that should tell you what form his love for you was capable of taking." Richard slid his legs onto the bed, and the next thing I knew he was lying on his side on the bed, with only the covers separating us. I edged away, and he did not attempt to touch me. "Your father was the King, and though he loved you, he put his land first. He believed that I was the best person to take the throne after his death. He knew that you were a threat to my ascension. Therefore he was prepared to use any means necessary to protect me. He would have killed you if you had forced him to do so, though he would have wept while doing so. I didn't fully understand this myself at the time; it is only since becoming regent that I have understood what sacrifices a ruler must make for the sake of his land. At the time, being only the heir to the throne, my one desire was to protect you against the King's wrath. The only way in which I knew how to do this was to have Derek bring you to me first, so that I could try to persuade you as to the danger you would find yourself in if you defied the King's command." 

"I don't believe you!" I said, my voice rising. "I _heard_ you—" 

I stopped. Still smiling, the Prince said, "In the passage. Yes. Your father told me about the hidden passage; he realized, too late, that that was where you must be hiding. I took a tour of the passage – you can hear my sleeping chamber quite well from there, can't you? I hope that you didn't eavesdrop on any of my lovemaking sessions over the years. That would make me blush." 

His light tone infuriated me. I said, "I heard conversations between you and your subcaptain in which you debated, in a casual manner, whether I should live. I heard you joking about the murders of those who heard Rosetta begin to sing the forbidden passage in the Song of Succession. Do you expect me to believe your lie that you wanted to protect me, when I heard you telling Derek the truth?" 

To my relief, Richard's smile had finally disappeared. His head rested upon his hand, which was raised by his elbow; now he tilted his head so that it was half in the shadow cast by my body. He said in a taut voice, "And how can you be so sure, Princess, as to which person I was lying to?" 

Out in the corridor, someone dropped an object with a crash. I heard a string of curses, and then a laugh as someone tried to mollify the angry man. I said weakly, "Derek was your friend." 

"Derek," the Prince said carefully, "was a vicious, amoral killer whose one virtue was that he had tremendous loyalty toward those whom he considered his friends. He had absolutely no land loyalty. When I first met him, when we were both young men in the army, I could see that he would soon sell his talents to the highest bidder, whether it be to the King or to one of our enemies. So I set out to cultivate his friendship. I talked the rough talk which he enjoyed, and which, I will fully admit, I myself did not find alien, since that sort of conversation is common among soldiers. In exchange for this, he would do whatever I wanted him to do, except – this was a very important exception – he would not follow my orders if he believed such orders would endanger me. If he had decided that you were a threat to me, nothing I said could have kept him from killing you. So I made light of you; I acted as though you were a trivial problem worth joking over. It seems that I was very effective if I convinced even you that I had no interest in your welfare." 

At his final words, he placed his hand lightly upon my bare shoulder. I shrugged the hand away, and he let it fall onto the mattress between us. Gathering my wits together, I said, "You used that sort of talk on me yourself. You as much as told me that you would kill my father if I went to Koretia – and I did go to Koretia, and you did kill him. You can't blame Derek for that; he was already dead by then." 

"And who told you that I killed the King, Princess?" Richard's voice turned dark. "Was it the Jackal's gelding, who slipped you over the border and placed you in the hands of your father's enemy? Is that how he convinced you that you would honor your father's memory best by staying with the commander whose attack brought about the King's death? I knew that that eunuch was sly and treacherous, but not that he had the skills to fool even you." 

To my surprise, I found that I was having to restrain myself to keep from hitting Richard. I said, "Lord Andrew didn't need to tell me that; I guessed it myself. And I know it's true because the god— The Song Spirit told me that I bear the guilt of his death." 

"Of course you do." Richard's voice was light once more. "What do you think it did to the King, to learn that his daughter had gone over to the enemy on the eve of war? Mind you, if he had thought it through, it might have occurred to him that there was a connection between his actions toward you and your arrival in Koretia. But as it was, he convinced himself that you'd been kidnapped. He arrived at the border just minutes before we attacked, taking over command of the vanguard so that he could avenge your rape by the Jackal. The Jackal couldn't rape to save his life, but your father always did judge other men by what he would do himself. And if you believe, Princess, that a subcommander can order his commander off the battlefield, then you know very little about the hierarchy of command." 

"He was stabbed in the back. Do you expect me to believe that my father turned his back on the enemy, that it's just a coincidence that he died that way?" 

"I certainly don't believe it's a coincidence. We don't know who killed him – naturally, nobody would own to the deed – but my guess is that the party truly responsible is the Song Spirit. She avenged the murder of her Bard." 

More sounds came from the corridor: the bumping sound of furniture being moved. Someone outside spoke sharply; I caught the words "mosaic" and "Chara." 

"No reply, Princess?" The Prince's voice was light. 

"You told your subjects that you repented of the fact that you had not opposed the King's orders," I said slowly. 

"You thought I was lying, no doubt." The Prince's gaze lay heavy upon me. "It is as I told my council: Until I receive a sign from the Song Spirit that she has forgiven me for my part in the murders, I will not risk angering her by claiming the title of King. And if you eavesdropped upon me during all those years, Serva, then you know that I do not joke on such matters." 

I shook my head, as though trying to remove the fuzziness of sleep from it, though I was acutely awake. "Why are you telling me this? You're my enemy." 

"You haven't listened to my song for a long time, have you? I told you quite clearly, eight months ago, that, whatever you may consider yourself to be to me, I am not your enemy." Then, with sudden passion: "Spirit of Mercy, Princess, if you knew the number of times over the years I've come to your defense—!" 

I wanted to respond but could not. I was remembering a scene that had taken place a mere eight months before. Me dropping a tray full of nuts while I was serving. The King ordering my punishment. Before that, the Prince murmuring words to the King. 

Not telling the King what I had done. Pleading to the King on my behalf. 

It all came to me, then: incidents long forgotten, like the time that Richard had given me a cloak so that I would not be cold. A bribe, I had thought, so certain was I that he wished ill for me. And then, like the pang of a long-forgotten wound, one of the oldest memories of all came to me: Richard crying, begging, as my father brutally pulled us apart on the day the King forced me to go with him to my new home, the slave-quarters. 

How long had Richard cried for my loss? In the deepest sense, had he ever really stopped? 

"All right," I said, my voice hoarse and humble. "I believe you. It was in Rosetta's song, wasn't it? The Song of the Quarrelling Children. The children quarrelled, but the boy tried to make matters up to the girl by returning her doll. I suppose that, if Rosetta had sung a few passages more of the song, I would have flung the doll in your face. . . . I believe you, but I still don't understand why you're risking your life to tell me this." 

"Don't you?" 

For a moment after Richard's soft reply, I was still and silent. Then I jumped out of bed. 

It was the most foolish thing I could have done, short of hitting him. It left me exposed, half-naked, standing in the corner of the room. 

As might be expected from Richard's strategical genius as a soldier, he closed the gap to my exit within seconds. I was ready to scream, but he did not touch me. He simply waited. 

I said rapidly, "Richard, it's no good. Even if you need me—" 

"Yes. I love you." 

This took my breath away. When I could speak again, I said, "Even if you love me, my heart is given to another—" 

"Lord Andrew." Richard's voice was flat. 

"Yes." I braced myself for further derision. 

Richard drew breath to speak, then let his breath go. In the light of the lamp he had lit, I could see sweat shine upon his forehead. When finally he spoke, it was in a gentler tone than I had ever heard him use. "Dearest, it breaks my heart to watch you give your love to a man who is incapable of returning it. I do not refer to his body. Bodily defects can be compensated for. But the damage that was done to his spirit when he was young . . . You must know by now, after all these months, that he is not returning for you." 

I said nothing. The stones against my back and under my feet were so cold that I was beginning to shiver. 

Without a word, the Prince took off his own cloak and draped it carefully over my shoulders. He said quietly, "And what could Lord Andrew give you if he did return? A life of wandering? A perpetual exile from the Spirit's songs?" 

"What could you give me?" I rejoined quickly. "A brief period as your mistress, before you discard me?" 

Richard shook his head. "Not my mistress. My Consort." 

The corridor had grown quieter, though I could still hear the reassuring sound of guards patrolling. One thing that Emorians were very good at was protecting those they had chosen to defend. 

I managed to choke out a single word: "Eulalee." 

"You have been my first choice for Consort all along. I have never lied to Eulalee about that." 

And Eulalee being who she was, she would remain to see whether she could become Richard's Consort if another woman rejected the Prince. But the idea that Richard should choose _me_ as his Consort . . . 

I said flatly, "You're mad." 

"You should know by now that I am not your father." Richard's voice remained quiet; he still had not touched me, except to give me his cloak. "As long as your father was alive, I was severely restricted in what I could do for you. Despite the games he sought to play by forcing you to marry me in the Spirit, he would never have allowed me to marry you in any true sense; he would have torn you away from me the moment after I consummated our marriage. But now he is gone, and I have the power to sing you the vow I've always dreamed of. Please, Serva—" To my amazement, I heard his voice tremble. "I need you so much." 

"You truly love me?" 

"I just said so." 

Everything was becoming clear. For months, everything that Richard had done had seemed sinister to me: his desperate efforts to keep me from fleeing to Koretia, his stubborn refusal to accept peace with Koretia unless I was returned to him, his persistent pursuit of me through the entire length of Daxis, and his single-minded focus on me at a time when the Daxion council was judging whether he was worthy to be King. 

Everything that the Prince had ever done was now resolved into clarity by Richard's words: he needed me. He needed me so badly that he was willing to risk his throne for me. 

Even his attempt to hide the forbidden passage that referred to me as a Consort made sense now: rather than have me flee in panic at the notion of being his Consort, Richard wanted the opportunity to court me. These were not the fickle fluctuations of a man lazily picking a mistress. These were the determined acts of a man who had placed the winning of a woman's love before everything else in his life. 

I felt new possibilities open for me. As Consort, I would have the power, under Daxion law, to advise Richard. I could persuade him to break down the boundaries that had kept Daxis isolated from her neighbors in the Great Peninsula. Perhaps, as Richard's true beloved, I could even persuade him to free the slaves in his palace. Leaving apart what I felt for Richard – and what I felt for him had so much potential that I had struggled hard to keep away from him – this might be my only chance to serve the Song Spirit and her children. 

The alternative was lifelong exile from my homeland, and abandoning the Daxions to their fate. 

I had to be sure, though, of what Richard seemed to be offering. "What you said about marrying me in the 'true' sense . . . You would marry me in the law, before witnesses?" 

For the first time, he hesitated. I could just barely make out his expression in the shadows, but I thought he looked uncertain. Finally he said, "I will leave that decision to you." 

Something was not right here. Perhaps it was simply that, twice now, Richard had conflated the statements "I love you" and "I need you." I remembered Andrew saying to the Jackal, "I need Serva, perhaps I even love her—" No, Andrew would never have mistaken need for love. 

But it was more than that. For as I stared into Richard's eyes, warm with affection, another voice came to me – the harsh voice of Derek issuing his warning: _"One of these days you'll begin believing your own lies, Richard."_

Certain now, I said slowly, "Richard, I am sincerely sorry for having misjudged you so greatly, over all these years. I hope that I can make up for it – that I can learn to love you as much as I loved my father. But I cannot marry you. I can only marry a man who would sing the marriage song to me in truth." 

Richard stared at me, his eyes wide and incredulous. Ignoring my final sentence, Richard said, "He will never return for you." 

"Then I will not marry." My throat felt sore as I spoke. I did not say, as I had said the previous spring, "I will not marry any man from any land." Richard was right. Andrew – the man with no land loyalties – would likely never return for me. Or if he did return, he would treat me in the same cold, distant fashion as he treated all but his friends. In rejecting Richard's proposal, I was rejecting my best chance to join my song with a man I was strongly drawn to. More than that, I was rejecting the only man who could give me back my home, where the Song Spirit dwelt. 

Better that, than that I should join my song with Richard's falsehoods. 

The incredulity on Richard's face grew stronger. He was still for a moment; then, with no more warning than a soldier shows on the field, he slammed me against the wall. 

Even if I had possessed breath enough, I doubt I would have cried out; I was transfixed by the transformation that had taken place in Richard's face. His lips had thinned, his eyes had narrowed, his brows had drawn low, and when he spoke, it was in the voice of mockery I had known for so long. 

He said, "Then you had best reconsider that decision, Princess, for you will find that my patience has boundaries. Do not seek to breach those boundaries." 

There was a sound in the corridor – more guards coming closer. Richard pulled himself back, jerked the cloak off my shoulders, and before I could draw in breath to speak, he was gone, slipping out of my bedroom. A moment later, I heard the door to the corridor open and close softly. A moment after that, his voice greeted the patrolling guards cheerfully with an enquiry for directions, as though he were on nothing more than a midnight stroll that had gone astray. 

As the guards thundered forward to intercept Richard, tears leaked out of my eyes. They were not tears of pain or fear. I cried then, as I had cried as a small girl, for loss of my beloved play-companion.


	10. Chapter 10

"So then I checked the palace kitchens," said Brian the next morning. "It appears that some food went missing three days ago, which happens now and then, only this time someone left money to pay for the food." 

"You think that it was Perry?" I said. 

"It must have been. He told me once that this was how he paid for the goods he bought when he was a beggar." 

"If he wanted to return to Koretia—" 

Brian shook his head. He was leaning against the corridor wall outside his quarters, keeping a watchful eye on the young scribes who were cradling mounds of documents in their arms as they carried them toward the court. "Perry took only three days' worth of food; that wouldn't be enough to see him through to Koretia, if he was travelling by foot. I think that he has gone into hiding until after the enthronement. Certainly the crowds in this palace are enough to make _me_ want to go into hiding." 

He stepped forward then to prevent one of his paper-laden scribes from walking into a free-women who was standing motionless in the corridor, craning her neck to see the mosaic representation of the royal emblem that was on the ceiling in front of the Chara's quarters. After much discussion between the Chara and the High Lord – with Lord Carle grumbling that the time-honored customs of the palace were being destroyed – the Chara and his council had compromised on the question of whether Emorian free-women should be allowed to attend the ceremony. Noblewomen would be invited, but only as companions of the high noblemen who participated in the ceremony. This was more than enough to excite the invited women, many of whom had never visited the palace where their husbands worked. 

Men, women, and even children were now thronging the corridor, jostling in between the officials who were still at work preparing for that evening ceremony. I saw the court summoners' page, formally dressed even down to a free-man's weapon, give a frantic signal to Brian from the doorway of the summoners' quarter. Brian returned the signal with a gesture that indicated he would come by presently. 

"Your son appears to be a little less confident than usual," I said with a smile. 

"Can you blame him? My legs were quaking when I represented the court officials at the Chara Peter's enthronement; I was about the same age as Galen. But everything went well then." Brian's anxious gaze returned to the scribes, who were bringing the last of the documents out of his quarters. 

"Everything will go well today," I assured him. "I've heard people talking about how impressive the arrangements are." 

Brian gave me a grateful look. "You needn't worry about Perry either. I spoke with the Chara last night, before he went into isolation, and he offered to send out the city guard to search for Perry. I really don't think that's necessary, though. I'm sure that Perry wouldn't have left without telling any of us; he'll turn up after this chaos has dissipated." His gaze drifted up the corridor once more. I knew he must be thinking of Emor's High Lord, who was still missing. 

"Go," I said, and pushed him in the direction of his scribes. He gave a forced laugh and went, passing as he did the spear-crossed doorway of the Chara's quarters, where James now waited in seclusion for the start to his ceremony. Brian paused in front of the summoners' quarters to speak to his son. As he did so, he was hailed by a white-tunicked man coming down the corridor. 

I turned quickly and made my way steadily down the corridor, hoping that Richard had not seen me. So anxious was I to avoid another confrontation that I ducked my way into the first open doorway. This immediately led to a stairway. As I picked my way carefully down the crumbling, shadowy steps, I realized that I had entered the palace slave-quarters. 

None of the slaves were anywhere to be seen. I supposed that they must all be busy helping to prepare for the ceremony; I hoped that they would be allowed time for their own festivities once this was done. Pulling closed my winter cloak – which I always wore now in the chilly palace corridors – I began walking my way through the enormous basement quarters, where all of the palace slave-servants lived. Tiny rooms like bees' honeycomb cells turned out to be serving pantries and sculleries; larger rooms contained sleeping pallets and a few belongings of such obvious worthlessness that the slaves wouldn't be tempted to steal from each other. After much wandering – I lost track of how much time had passed – I ducked my head into a small room and saw that it contained nothing at all. This struck me as so odd that I examined the room. 

Unlike most of the chambers in the slave-quarters, this one had a bar that could prevent the door from being opened – but the bar was on the outside of the room, not the inside. The floor inside was of the rough flagstones that paved all of the basement quarters. The cold from the floor shot its way up my legs like tiny darts. I placed my hand on the stone blocks of the wall. As I did so, I heard faint music in the distance. 

The basement corridors were lit by torches, but the torchlight barely penetrated this room, so I was forced to feel along the wall as I searched for the one loose block that served as the entrance I was seeking. It was harder than I would have guessed to touch every block in the cell. I began sweating in the chilly basement as I reached up on tiptoe to try to touch the higher blocks. 

"It's not here." 

I swivelled on tiptoe, nearly unbalancing myself in the process. He was standing against the corridor wall opposite, his hands placed behind his back as though they were bound there. His cloak was pulled back to reveal the nobleman's tunic underneath; a sheathed dagger hung from his belt. The torchlight cast a shadow over his face so that I could not see what lay there, but I doubted that even daylight would have revealed what I wanted to know. Of all the times since I had met him, I thought, this was the time when I most would have liked to have known what Andrew was thinking. 

I said feebly, "I beg your pardon?" 

"The hidden passage you're seeking. There's no entrance here. I know every crack in this room." 

He had not moved during his speech. My mind was stumbling over replies, afraid to say anything lest it turn out to be the statement that sent him running again. The music I had heard continued faintly, and it was this that decided me. The Spirit did not like pretenses. If Andrew could not accept me for what I was, then it would be better for both of us if he left. 

I hid my own hands behind my back to disguise the fact that I was clutching them in fists, and asked directly, "Did you come down here looking for me?" 

Andrew shook his head and walked up to the doorway, leaning one hand against it. His eyes, as relaxed as they ever were, travelled away from me to look at the walls of the room. "I didn't realize that you were here. I stop here sometimes to look at this place . . ." He paused, then stepped into the room and let his hand trail up the dark wall next to the doorway. "Though I've never re-entered it before." 

"What is this—?" I stopped as I came forward and saw what Andrew was touching along the wall. It was an iron ring, darkened with rust and attached securely to the wall. Andrew's hand drifted down. Further toward the floor, at about the height of my head, was another, smaller ring. It said something about the Emorians, I reflected, that they would install a whipping ring just for their slave-children. 

"I was only brought here twice," said Andrew, his gaze reserved for the small ring rather than me. "Despite his reputation, Lord Carle rarely uses physical punishment. He can usually get what he wants through verbal punishment." 

I leaned against the wall, resting my cheek against the icy stones and trying to see Andrew's face in the dim light. "I wouldn't have thought you'd want to visit this place again." 

"I have good memories here as well as bad ones. The second time I was brought here, when I received the beating I told you about last spring, Peter came here with his father and persuaded the Chara Nicholas to buy me. If that hadn't happened, I doubt that the Chara Peter and I would have become wine-friends." 

I watched him trace the outline of the ring with his finger; the ring left dirt along the tip of his finger that was as black as dried blood. I slid a hand between my cheek and the wall in order to screen myself from the cold, asking, "What about the first time you came here?" 

Andrew's linked his finger around the ring, pulled it out from the wall, and let it fall. He still had not looked my way. "This place is also used as a sickroom for slaves who have been punished. I spent my first few weeks at the palace here, when I was recovering from my gelding." 

The singing I had been faintly hearing was gone; the silence was so complete that I could hear nothing, not even my own breath, because I was barely breathing now. Finally, seeing that Andrew was awaiting some comment from me, I said, "I've talked to Lord Carle about you." 

He lifted his head. In the dim light, I could not read his eyes, but his faint smile was upon his mouth. "Of all the mistakes I've made over the years, Carle was one of my gravest. For a long time I hated him too much to see what sort of man he really was. When I visited Emor last spring, I finally dared to ask him why he had ordered me gelded. He told me that he had been trying to break me into obedience – that he thought me so wild and lawless that he feared I would try to kill someone, such as himself or the Chara. He said that he was also afraid of the consequences for me if that happened." 

I said hesitantly, "That sounds like a rationalization to me." 

"Yes, I've been trying to break Carle from his lifelong custom of finding excuses for his brutal acts. There is usually a seed of truth to his reasoning, though. I did plan to kill him, and I did plan to kill the Chara. Though I wish that Carle had used a gentler method on me, I'm glad that he was able to delay my plans long enough for me to discover reasons why I shouldn't carry them out." 

Andrew leaned against the wall, arching his back and reaching up to curl his fingers around the upper ring. Looking out at the bare, dusty room before us, he said, "Carle succeeded far better than he'll ever know in breaking me. The first weeks that I was here, I ate and drank when I was told to, I moved in any way I was commanded, but that was all that was left in me: the ability to obey orders. I was an empty shell, with my spirit and my will destroyed." 

I bit my lip to avoid making the sound growing in my throat. Finally I asked, "So what happened?" 

"I was being tended by Carle's free-servant, an elderly man who was in many ways a mirror image of his master: very kind under his reserve of strictness. He told me toward the end of my period of recovery that he'd served several masters. In fact, I learned later that Henry had endured terrible trials during his slave years. He said that he had come to believe that the only thing that mattered in life was serving your master with loyalty. Well, I didn't consider Carle my master, but this reminded what small part was left of me that I owed service to my god, to whom I had vowed myself only a few months before. So I prayed to the god – not with any petition, for I had no will left with which to desire anything. I simply gave him the one thing I had left to give: my obedience." 

The faint music began again. This time I recognized that it was travelling through the corridor, coming from some place further along in the basement. Andrew pushed himself away from the wall. As he did so, his face came into the glow of light cast by the corridor torch. As usual, his expression held no more movement than that of the Chara in judgment. 

Andrew's wandering eyes rested back upon me. "Perry has told me how, when he awoke several days after the fire, he found that he once more desired to live, but his voice was trapped; he couldn't reveal to anyone what he was thinking inside. It was much like that for me. I awoke the next morning and found myself as you see me now: with my spirit returned, but without the ability to show what was inside me except in a small way to a few friends over the years. I suppose that, if I had known that this mask would be with me for the rest of my life, I would have struggled to remove it, and perhaps I would have succeeded at that early stage. But at the time, I wore it gratefully, as a way that I could be alive and yet not feel the pain I had felt before. And even today, I cannot feel as much resentfulness toward my mask as friends expect me to have, because I remember what I was like before." 

His eyes were the only part of his face that moved now; the rest of it was as immobile as iron. Once more I felt myself at a loss for words, so I simply said, "Thank you for telling me." 

He gave me his faint smile then, saying, "I hadn't planned to. I'm finding that Daxions are as good at listening as they are at talking and singing; even so, you appear to have a special gift for pulling confidences out of people. You make me feel like a novice in comparison." His eyes travelled down from my face. I realized that my cloak had opened to reveal the slave-tunic I was wearing underneath. Of course, Richard's visit was what had given me a sudden distaste for my noble heritage and had caused me to don my old clothes. 

"Are you on your way to the slaves' celebration?" Andrew asked. 

"The what?" 

Andrew gestured with his head toward the corridor, where, amidst the music, I could now hear scraps of laughter and shouting. He said, "That's where I was headed. I missed the celebration at the last enthronement because I was sulking in the Chara's quarters, pitying myself because I couldn't attend the enthronement ceremony." He stepped back out into the corridor. I joined him as we moved toward the source of the sounds. "I spent a great deal of time pitying myself when I was a slave; it was my favorite activity, in between planning creative ways to carve Lord Carle with a dagger." 

He reached forward to push open a door that divided the corridor. Over the sudden wave of noise that greeted us, I asked, "When did you arrive in Emor?" 

"Just a short while ago. I think Brian is as close as he'll ever be to being convinced that the gods watch over me, but it's really not that hard to travel through the snowbound mountains if the winds are still. I did nearly go astray at one point when the winds blew up, but I located the patrol hut in time, and there I stumbled upon Lord Carle scattering ashes in the midst of the snowstorm. We waited for the winds to die down again, and then he accompanied me back to the palace." _With my help_ were Andrew's unspoken words. "Obtaining entrance here may be a little harder." 

I had no chance to ask why, for Andrew was already ushering me into a chamber tight with bodies. 

It was a large chamber, but it appeared that every slave in the palace had jammed himself into this place; the only open areas lay at the back of the room, where food was being served, and on an upraised platform in the center of the chamber, where dancing was taking place. There were no musical instruments here, only singing from a group of slaves who, I guessed from the songs, had once lived in Daxis. The Emorian and Koretian-born slaves looked bemused by the singing; they were busy conversing and eating. 

I became aware that the slaves who were nearest to us had grown quiet upon our entrance. They directed their gazes carefully away from us, but there was a great deal of whispering going on amidst them. I looked over at Andrew, whose eyes had gone suddenly cold, but he did not move from where he stood. 

Eventually, one of the slaves detached himself from the crowd and approached us. The man was a little older than Andrew and me, with the hair at his temples already turning silver against gold. His pale Emorian face was lean, and underneath his half-lowered eyelids was a blank stare I would have taken for dull-wittedness if I had not seen his eyes narrow as he turned toward Andrew. He bowed and said, with a pleasant amiability I guessed had been well-practiced, "Good day to you, Lord Andrew." 

"It is good to see you again, Patrick," Andrew replied quietly, "but I am not here as a lord. This is Serva, recently from the Daxion palace slave-quarters." 

I knew that Patrick must already acquainted with my identity – everyone in the palace knew who I was by now – but I realized that Andrew was providing a reason for me to be here at the celebration reserved for slaves. Apparently my credentials were accepted, for the whispering stopped. Patrick raised his eyes and grinned, saying over his shoulder, "Philippa, see if there's any wild-berry wine stored in the back, will you? I suppose that you still won't drink Emorian wine," he said to Andrew with tolerant amusement. 

"Not if my life depended on it," Andrew replied coolly. "Neither would you if you had endured one of Lord Carle's lectures about how wall-vine wine is symbolic of the civilization that Emor brought to its barbarian neighbors." 

"Well, that's true enough, isn't it?" said Patrick placidly, and plucked up a bowl which was being passed around. "Have some nuts. No, not Daxion nuts, so you needn't raise your hopes – we can't all live the nobleman's life. They're blackroot nuts, which should be sufficiently Koretian to pass your strenuous test in such matters. How is life for you at the Jackal's palace?" 

"Well enough. The Jackal has been considering whether to allow one of the palace free-servants to join his council." 

"Interesting," said Patrick, dismissing this amazing piece of news with a wave of his hand. "And how is life for _you_ at the Jackal's palace?" 

Andrew's frosty gaze rested momentarily on Patrick before he said calmly, "If you're in need of money, Patrick, I would be glad to give you what I have on hand." 

This mysterious jibe appeared to hit home. Several of the slaves standing nearby let out guffaws before they caught sight of Patrick's furious eye and quickly began talking of other subjects amongst themselves. By the time he had turned back, Patrick had made a masterful transformation back to amiability. He said, "I'm a reformed man, Andrew; don't hold my former life against me. Not all of us have had the opportunities you have had to escape our pasts." 

This was so manifestly true that I expected Andrew to say something soft in reply. Instead he said, with a brutality that shocked me, "You could have won your freedom long before this if you'd tried the right methods. And take me at my word: self-pity won't pull you any further along that road." Without adding anything more, he turned and began talking to one of the other slaves. 

Patrick's disguise of friendly self-confidence had toppled, leaving his face looking bleak with a stark unhappiness I recognized: it was that of a slave who has long been in service, but has not yet surrendered hope of being given his freedom. Feeling suddenly furious at Andrew, I opened my mouth to speak to Patrick, but at that moment my hand was grabbed. 

"Come on up," said the slave tugging at my hand; I recognized her as the Daxion woman who had ignored my greeting the day before. "You'll be able to sing us the latest songs from the Daxion palace – we need your voice." 

I glanced at Andrew, but he was still absorbed in conversation, his back turned against the slave he had just wounded, so I allowed myself to be pulled over to the platform where the other Daxions were singing. 

Most of the songs were about the Chara and were adaptations of Daxion songs boasting of the King's prowess in bed. In this respect, the slaves discovered that they had happened upon diamonds with me: I knew most of Rosetta's bawdy songs about my father. I shamelessly poured forth all the details of what the Chara was planning to do in bed; it was a reflection of my time away from Daxis that I even thought of shame when singing such songs. It occurred to me at a certain point, however, that Andrew might not be well acquainted with Daxion views on propriety, and so I searched the crowd with my eyes. I finally found Andrew standing in a corner, watching me without expression – at this, my voice jarred to a halt, but he merely gestured with his eyes. I followed his gaze and saw that Andrew was being watched by Patrick, who now had his arm around one of the slave-women. With an obedience I did not really feel that I owed Andrew after his earlier behavior, I slipped down from the platform and wound my way over toward Patrick. 

Patrick was speaking quietly to the slave-woman when I arrived; he halted abruptly when I came near. I smiled at the woman, saying, "My name is Serva." 

"I know," she said stiffly. "I've served you at dinner." 

I felt heat wash over my face. I had no idea which of the many council lords or ladies she served. The fact that I could not recall any of the slave-servants who had served me when I dined with noblemen and noblewomen told all too well how far I had distanced myself from my former life. Grace's warning had been a timely one. 

Desperate to redeem myself, I turned wildly around and caught sight of one of the tables nearby, laden with food and drink on this feast-day. I grabbed a bottle. "Would you like me to pour you this vintage?" I asked the slave-woman. 

It was Patrick who took the bottle from my hand. He snorted at the slave-woman's look of astonishment. "Philippa, she's just like Andrew. You know his way of winning people over." 

An immediate look of distress came over Philippa's face. Clearly, there was more taking place here than simply the exchange I had heard earlier between Andrew and Patrick. Accepting the cup of wall-vine wine that Patrick had poured for me, I said, "He does have a way of sneaking up on one, doesn't he? I didn't fully learn who he was till someone else told me. In all the time I'd known him, he'd never hinted he was the Jackal's blood brother – in fact, he'd misled me into thinking he was nobody important. And so there I found myself, an escaped slave who had been acting on familiar terms with the Koretian Ambassador . . ." 

"It wouldn't have mattered if he'd still been a slave." Having poured a drink for Philippa, Patrick paused between guzzling down the remainder of the bottle. "He deceives the way other men breathe." 

"Did you know Andrew when he was a slave?" I asked with genuine curiosity. "What was he like?" I had kept my promise to myself not to quiz Obed about Andrew's past, while Lord Carle had been understandably reticent about that part of Andrew's life. Brian had already told Perry and me what little he knew, Emmett was far too discreet to talk about matters related to his work, Lady Levina had other topics on her mind, and nobody else I had met had known Andrew – or at least noticed him – in the days when he was an obscure slave. 

I had addressed my question to Patrick, but it was Philippa who answered hotly, "He was a sneaky, snobbish boy who thought he was better than all the rest of us." 

Patrick gave a quick frown in Philippa's direction. Philippa wound her hand around his arm and said, "Oh, stop worrying! It doesn't matter what he thinks about us. If he'd wanted to have his revenge, he'd have done so long ago." 

"Maybe." Patrick's gaze drifted back toward Andrew. "Or maybe he's just waiting for the right moment. He likes to wait until his victims are relaxed before he attacks them." 

I thought of Andrew conversing quietly with me as we looked down upon the Emorian capital, then slipping away the moment that I turned away. I heard myself say, "I know what you mean." 

Patrick and Philippa exchanged looks. They must have decided that I was now trustworthy, for Patrick said, "The truth of the matter is, I tried to become friends with him. He was just a boy then; I'd come of age, and I could see that he endured a lot of mocking from the other slaves because he'd been gelded. He could have spoiled their game by laughing along with them, but he was never willing to do that. So I figured that he needed a protector, and I tried to befriend him. It wasn't just out of pity. He was the sort who kept his thoughts to himself and didn't pour out his feelings to others around him; I admired that." 

"So what did he say?" My eye was on Andrew, who was in the process of deliberately moving away in order to avoid talking to a slave who had been walking toward him. The slave halted, looked uncertain, and quickly moved away. 

"He made it clear that he didn't need my friendship. I think that he may actually have liked me – it's just that, like 'Lippa says, he thought himself better than the rest of us. It was as though he was saying, 'Behold, I have suffered more than every one of you' – which wasn't true, because there were other gelded slaves here. 'I have suffered more, and I have the ability to endure more pain, and no one has the right to judge me except my gods. I am above the law of this land, and I need no one's help to get through all of this.'" Patrick paused to take a final swallow of the bottle, his gaze still fixed on Andrew. He added, "After one too many of these conversations, I went to Lord Carle and told him about a misdeed that Andrew was planning to commit – the most foolish thing I ever did. A few days later, Andrew sidled his way into the Chara's household service, and within two years he was free. Now he's the Koretian Ambassador, so I suppose he's right – he _is_ better than all the rest of us. But he needn't have made it so obvious." He turned and said abruptly, "We need more wine. I'll go find some." 

o—o—o

As Patrick departed, I looked around the room. Nowhere could I see Andrew. As the celebration continued, the slaves were beginning to break into separate groups. I saw the Daxion slaves in one corner, the dominion slaves in another corner, the Emorian slaves in a large group in the middle, and in the far corner— I craned my neck, trying to see. All I could tell was that the slaves in that corner seemed to be very fond of bright colors, for they looked like a group of exotic birds. 

"Patrick is getting himself drunk." Phillippa sounded resigned as she watched Patrick do his best to drain a bottle of wine in a single gulp. "He always does, when Andrew visits. He'll be vomiting into a chamber-pot by the end of the night." 

Andrew was no longer here. I was sure of that now. Resisting the temptation to run after him, I said, "Phillippa . . . will you walk with me a bit?" 

She hesitated. "I'm not permitted outside the entrance to the slave-quarters without permission." 

"I'm not going that far. Just a little way down the corridor, to stretch my legs." 

The corridor remained empty; none of the slaves had yet ventured this far. Faintly I could hear the rumbling sound of the noblemen and noblewomen in the palace above us. They seemed very far away. 

"Do you know Gerda?" I asked. 

"Daxion, isn't she?" Phillippa frowned, evidently trying to remember. "I think she serves Lady Levina. I rarely see her; I live in Lord Carle's section of the slave-quarters." 

I resisted the temptation to ask her whether it was true that the High Lord was a better master now than in the old days. The last thing that any slave wants to do on a day of rest is think about her master. 

"I was talking to her between songs," I said. "She says that the men and women here are housed in the same sleeping room at night. It's different in the Daxion palace; we slave-women have always been permitted our time apart from the men. The New Year is coming soon. Gerda told me that all the slaves will be permitted time off on that day, in honor of the giving of the Law. In Daxis, the New Year celebrates the Song Spirit gathering her children together; it's a special day for women and girls. I suggested to Gerda that we might petition the Chara for permission to hold a gathering that day, just for slave-women and slave-girls. Would you like to attend?" 

Phillippa was staring at me, as though she had not quite focussed her eyes on me before. Finally she said, "Just the women and girls?" 

"I'd thought so," I said cautiously. "Do you have a better idea?" 

"I was just wondering . . . I think maybe Loretta would like to attend. She's a friend of mine. She'd never impose herself where she wasn't wanted, but a gathering just of us women and girls . . . She'd like that, if you invited her." 

It was on the tip of my tongue to enquire why Loretta wouldn't feel welcome without a special invitation— 

—and then I remembered the brightly colored slaves, all in a corner by themselves. Brightly colored, like Obed always was. 

"Of course," I heard myself say. "We'll invite all the half-men; any who want to can attend. There was a male slave back in Daxis who used to help prepare bodies for burning, even though that's usually a woman's job. He was always welcome among us." 

Phillippa looked relieved. "Shall I tell her now? She'll be very excited." 

"As long as you don't promise her that the celebration will take place," I warned. "I don't know whether the Chara will give permission." 

Phillippa had already turned away, ready to return to the celebration; now she turned back. She opened her mouth, then closed it. 

"What is it?" I asked. 

"Just—" She took a deep breath and tried again. "He has that way of charming people. He'll try to persuade you that Patrick is evil. Don't believe him, please. It's true that Patrick made a mistake when he was young, but he has tried to make up for it since then. He has tried to be a better man." 

"Look, I don't know that I can intervene on Patrick's behalf—" 

"I know. I'm not asking that. Just believe the truth, will you? Don't believe Andrew's lies." And then, as though she had said too much, she put her hands on her thighs to keep the edge of her tunic down, and ran back to the celebration. 

I was still a moment, thinking. Then I looked around. I found that I had returned myself to the place where this had all started, so many years ago: the slaves' punishment room. 

I was more hesitant this time in entering. I felt my breath grow short as I stepped inside the dark, cold room. The rings on the wall were colder still. I touched the ring for slave-children. It burned my fingers. 

I don't know how long it was before Andrew spoke my name. Long enough that my face was drenched in tears. He silently handed me a face-cloth. 

"Andrew," I choked out, "do you remember when you asked me what happened when I was nearly raped as a young woman?" 

He nodded, waiting. There was always a waiting quality to him, as though he were in a different place altogether, where time moved differently. 

"Nothing," I said. "Nothing happened, because I didn't let it happen. I didn't let myself feel it." 

Something moved in his eyes then. His gaze switched to the ring I was still touching. 

I nodded. "It was like that. It was like when you were gelded. Only it wasn't just the near-rape. It was everything: Being sent to the slave-quarters after years as a privileged child in the royal nursery. Being beaten periodically, without warning. Having my father rescue me every few days and then send me back again for more harsh treatment. . . . I was lucky. I had people who cared about me: Sandy the dungeon-keeper, Rosetta the Bard, a fellow slave named Grace, and even the Prince, in his own way. But they all had their own duties, and I couldn't help but feel . . . I couldn't help but fear that, if I were ever really in trouble, they wouldn't notice. They wouldn't come." 

As no one had come for me on that night when I struggled with the guard, though I had called out for help, over and over. Compassion told me that the other slaves had their own fears, while perhaps the other guards had been under orders not to interfere. Compassion told me that; but at the time, barely fourteen and only recently entered into womanhood, I had known only that I was suffering, and no one cared. 

"You didn't call for help," Andrew quietly reminded me. "The two times that you were nearly raped when I was nearby, you didn't cry out for help. Did you think no one would come? Or that no one would care?" 

He was right. I had not seen it till now – perhaps would never have seen it if Grace had not revealed to me that turning point in my life. And yet— 

"It wasn't a single masking for me," I said slowly. "There wasn't a single moment, not even during the attempted rape, when I began to close myself off from the rest of the world. It was gradual, like layers and layers of callouses being added to the skin. And you're right – it _did_ help, in a way. Being masked helped me survive. But there came a time when the mask was too heavy – when I needed it to lighten, lest I become—" I cut myself off in time from saying, "Become like you." 

From the flicker in Andrew's expression, I guessed that he knew how my sentence ended. But all that he said was, "I only once saw that in you—" 

"And you warned me. Yes. You told me not to let my mask become permanent. That helped." 

"But even so, your mask was subtle. Not heavy, like you describe." 

"By that time, it was beginning to grow lighter." 

"When did it begin to lighten?" 

"In my father's dungeon," I said quietly, "when I met an imprisoned spy who gave me his secret name and made clear that he would help me if I ever needed him." 

o—o—o

Andrew remained very still. My hand had slipped from the punishment ring as we talked; I was barely aware any more of our surroundings. I looked up at Andrew, who was standing less than an arm's span from me. 

I don't know what I expected. But nothing happened except that Andrew stepped back. As though I had not spoken, he turned and said, "This way." 

The disappointment was especially bitter after what had preceded it. I had opened my heart to him, and he— I cut that thought off. I owed too much to Andrew to become upset if I had taken him further than he was capable of going. He had returned to me; that was what mattered. I hurried to catch up with him in the corridor. 

"Did you have a pleasant conversation with Patrick?" asked Andrew as I caught up with him. 

I looked over at Andrew. Behind us echoed the lingering music and conversations of the slaves' celebration. Andrew's face was as hard as it had been throughout the celebration. His eyes were turned coolly in the direction that we were walking. 

I said, "Patrick told me that he tried to become friends with you when you were a slave and that you responded with coldness." 

Andrew's eyes remained pinned in their place. "I imagine that's true." 

He was walking so rapidly that I found myself stumbling to keep up. Craning my head to look at his face, I said, "He also said that you thought you were better than the other slaves – that you didn't think anyone had the right to judge you except the gods and that you didn't want anyone's help." 

Andrew's gaze did not waver as he said, in a voice even colder than before, "Patrick has always had a gift for reading other people's thoughts." 

I halted with the rapidity of a stone that had just met the ground. It appeared at first as though Andrew would continue on down the corridor without me. Then he stopped and turned. His unreadable eyes met mine. 

"Andrew," I said darkly, "are you giving me a half-truth again?" 

For a moment, Andrew's face remained hard. Then there was a softening at the edges to his mouth, and the corners of his lips turned up slightly. "I suppose that I am," he replied. "I'm sorry; I hadn't thought of it that way. I just thought that you ought to know that other side to me, and I knew that Patrick would be able to tell you about it." 

"Blessings of the Spirit, Andrew!" I cried in frustration. "I've seen you kill a man in cold blood. I've seen you draw a dagger against me, not once, not twice, but thrice. I've seen you abandon me, spurn people's friendly overtures time and time again, abandon me again, and allow Koretia and Daxis to plunge into war while you went into hiding. Yet you think I need someone to tell me that you're not perfect?" 

The smile crept upward into Andrew's eyes. "I suppose not." 

"Thank you for acknowledging that I'm not a witless child. Now what is the full truth?" 

Andrew began walking forward again, slowly this time, so that his stride matched mine. His face travelled between torchlight and shadow and back into torchlight as he said, "The truth is that Patrick has always had a gift for reading other people's thoughts. He has used this talent over the years as a way to lure unwary slaves into confessing their secrets to him. Then he has either blackmailed his victim or else gone straight to the slave's master with his information in hopes of a reward. He has been very successful in his chosen career – except that, twenty-seven years ago, he had the misfortune to spring his trap on a naive young slave-boy. This particular slave ought to have been condemned to the high doom as a result of Patrick's information. Instead, to Patrick's horror, the slave rose to a position of power. Ever since then, Patrick has been awaiting my revenge. I have enough resentment remaining toward him that I've allowed him to live with that fear." 

He stopped suddenly, his hand reaching out to press against the cold stones of the corridor wall. His brow creased ever so slightly. He stared at the torch next to him, which was sending out puffs of grey smoke and the smell of pitch. I asked, "What's on your mind?" 

"Marriage," he said slowly. "Patrick is married to Philippa – in the Spirit, as you'd say, because Emorian law doesn't recognize slaves' marriages. Patrick belongs to Lord Diggory, and Philippa belongs to Lord Carle. Carle has announced that he plans to free his palace slave-servants after he retires next year – that means that Philippa will be given her manumission paper, but she'll be separated from Patrick. No wonder Patrick is so bitter about remaining a slave." 

His gaze drifted down, as though he were a slave meeting his master, and he stared at the bare stone floor of the slave-quarters. He said quietly, as though thinking aloud, "I don't have enough money to buy a palace slave. I wonder whether I could persuade Carle to buy Patrick and free him with the others." 

"You know," I said dryly, "if this is intended as a demonstration of your villainy, you're not doing a very good job." 

Andrew's gaze jerked up. For a moment he stared at me, his face startled into surprise; then he laughed. 

"I surrender," he said, gesturing us forward with a relaxed wave of the hand. "The gods alone know why I wear my slave-mask when I'm around you; you keep looking through it as though it were glass. —Here we are." 

We had stopped in front of an iron door like all the others in the slave-quarters, except that it was closed and had a lock in it. I tried the latch, but the door remained shut. "Do you have the key?" I asked. 

Andrew shook his head; without a word he swept his cloak back from his shoulders once more and began to untie his belt. As I watched with fascination, he turned the belt over in his hands so that its underside was facing up. There, in a dozen slim pockets, were hidden a series of thin metal rods. 

His hand moved without hesitation to one of the slender rods; he pulled it from the belt as he knelt down beside the lock. I asked with curiosity, "How long does it take you to do this?" 

He hesitated on the point of inserting the rod into the lock. "Do you mean, what is the shortest time I can take?" 

I nodded. 

"Scream," he said. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Scream as loud as you can." He was no longer looking at me, but at the lock; his rod was poised on the point of entry. 

I took a moment to imagine in my mind the scream I had been about to give the night before, and then I opened my mouth. The high, jagged call reverberated down the corridor, bumping its way hastily through the empty slave-quarters. There was a pause, then an abrupt shout and rapid, pounding feet; the noise came from the soldiers guarding the slave-quarters, who had heard my cry and were coming to investigate. 

I looked back down at Andrew. His face exhibited no signs of worry as he jiggled the rod in the lock. The thundering feet were coming nearer. I began to compose in my mind some plan that would keep Andrew from being cut down on the spot by the soldiers. Then my breath was jerked out of my body as Andrew rose, lifted the latch, grabbed me by the waist, pulled me through the door, and closed the door one moment before the soldiers raced down the corridor where we had been standing. 

Andrew was silent as the soldiers rushed past. We were standing in darkness, and his arm was still around me; I could feel the beat of his heart, as rapid as my own. The sound of the soldiers' footsteps faded, but still Andrew stood stiffly beside me, his only sound being his soft, quick breath. The blackness pressed upon us; I could not even see the outlines of the door. Then his arm slid away from me. There was a momentary flash of light, blinding me, and the door closed again. I was alone in the darkness. 

The place I was in smelled of dust and damp rock; the air was winter-cold around me. I thought for a moment that I could hear music, and then I thought I could hear wind, but after that I could hear nothing except the sound of my own heart, pulsating through the mute night. I pulled my cloak tighter around my body and tried to warm the chill growing inside me. 

The blinding light came again, followed by the sound of the door squeaking closed. As my eyes adjusted, I saw Andrew standing beside me, holding a torch. 

He placed the torch on a hook on the wall. Shadows danced wildly across the room, like waves in a storm. We were in a pantry, much like the storeroom in which I had met Perry, but nothing lay on the shelves here except plate-slots, covered in heavy dust. I looked back at Andrew. He was in the process of retying his belt. 

For want of anything else to say, I asked, "Do you always carry picklocks with you?" 

"I never know when I'll need them," he replied, letting the front of his featureless cloak fall back into place. "Five years ago, I came to this palace thinking that I would only be an ambassador. Instead, I ended up spending my time spying." 

I cocked my head at him. "And last spring?" 

A smile crept into his expression, warily, as though entering enemy territory. He pushed his hair back from his beardless face and let his gaze drift past me to the bracketed shelves around us. "Last spring . . . Last spring I wanted to find out more about Carle's life in the army. Every time I had made reference to those years, he had fled from the topic like a skittish and much-abused dog. I wasn't sure where to begin probing, so I decided to check his army records. And there lay my challenge." 

"Were they closed records?" I asked. 

He shook his head and trailed one finger through the grey dust on a shelf. "No, but if I'd gone to the army headquarters and made an open request to see them, the news would have been all over the palace immediately. I figured that Carle already had enough gossip circulating about him without that. Instead, I broke into Carle's quarters in the palace and looked through his study chamber to see whether I could find his own copy of the records. I should have known better." 

"You couldn't find it?" Faintly again I thought I heard the music, but this time I was sure that it was not entering my spirit through my ears. I wondered then whether Richard was wandering the slave-quarters in search of me, and how he would react if he found Andrew and me together like this. 

"Oh, yes, I found it, and then I travelled to Carle's country home and used what I'd learned from the records to draw out the full story from him. I felt like a doctor who must operate on a man who is fully conscious, but it was either that or allow the hidden poison of his memories to continue festering inside him. . . . That wasn't the problem. The problem was that we came back to the palace together, and I woke up in the middle of the following night to discover Carle's sword-tip against my throat. —What are you laughing at?" 

"Nothing. Something that Lord Carle said when we first spoke together. Go on – he'd discovered your break-in?" 

"He had detected that someone had been rifling through his papers and had correctly surmised who it was. I found it a bit difficult to explain with a blade pushing against my windpipe, and then the Chara arrived, and I couldn't have explained without revealing Carle's secret sorrows. So I kept quiet and allowed them to think I was spying for the Jackal." The smile on Andrew's face deepened enough to reach his eyes. Leaning against the dirty shelf, he said, "Thus I was forced to return to Koretia sooner than I'd expected, though I travelled home slowly, trying to figure out what to tell John when I saw him. And I was saved from having to explain when I reached the capital because I found myself busy helping a slave to escape her masters. So you have Carle and his bad temper to thank for the fact that you are free." 

I laughed again. Andrew gave one of his faint smiles; after a moment, it drifted away like mist. He stared at the shelf for a long moment, like a soldier gathering his courage for a mighty battle. Then he crouched down and reached between two of the lowest shelves. 

I could not see what he did. But there was a click, and suddenly the shelves became a door, opening to darkness. 

I peered cautiously inside as Andrew took the torch from its hook and brought it over. The walls in the chamber I saw were not smooth with plaster, like the walls of the pantry; they were made of stone that flaked. Moss covered part of the stone. In the midst of the chamber was a central hearth, such as could be found in some of the older Daxion inns. As I stepped inside the chamber, I saw that the hearth was filled with peat, as though it had been built for slaves or commoners. More peat lay in the corner, but otherwise, the chamber was bare. An open doorway to the side led to more darkness. 

Silently closing the shelf-door behind us, Andrew went over and tossed the torch onto the peat. It slowly grew to life, sending off pungent smoke. I looked up, but there was no sign here of a chimney or fire-hood. 

Following my gaze, Andrew said, "There's a smoke-hole above. It leads to one of the palace's many chimney vents, so that the smoke here mingles with the smoke of other palace hearth-fires. Originally, the hole must have led to open air." 

"Originally?" I had been staring at the wall, trying to figure out where the mortar lay between the stones. I could see no sign of mortar. I was quite sure that, in all my travels, I had never encountered a stone building made without mortar – except, I suddenly remembered, the royal residence of the Koretian palace. 

"This whole ground floor – the slave-quarters, the dungeon, and a section of the council quarters called the Labyrinth – was the original palace of the Charas," Andrew replied, staring down at the peat. "Most of it has been rebuilt many times over the years, but this particular passage . . . it is very ancient indeed." He pointed without looking up. "Go and see." 

Following his instruction, I made my way into the dark passage. I had not travelled far before I began to see a faint light, and I began to hear music. 

The music swelled as I reached the threshold of another doorway. The room in front of me was built of golden stones. Touching them, I felt the same cool softness I had felt when I touched the walls of the glowing cavern in Capital Mountain. Curious, I scraped at one of the stones with my fingernail. 

The golden glow spread to my fingertip. It was algae, I realized – a sort of algae that had an inner glow to it. The stone behind it was indeed golden, but it was the algae that caused the light. 

This was so prosaic an explanation to the mystery of the light that I could have laughed. What kept me silent was that I could still hear music. 

There were no winds in this place, yet the music sang in my ears, as though my father were here. For a panicky moment, I wondered whether the Prince had preceded me here, but I could see no sign of anyone in this chamber. It was quite empty, other than a rectangular block of stone that stood in the middle of the room. 

I walked toward it slowly. The block was made of the same golden rock as the rest of the room; it was very plain, with no indication of its purpose. I stared at it a moment, trying to think matters through. Then I slowly raised my head. 

There in the ceiling, just above the block, was the faint sign of a smoke-hole. 

Andrew was still staring at the peat-fire when I returned, though it was well-lit by now. "Andrew," I said, "on our journey through Daxis, you and Perry spoke of a secret – a secret known to only you two and the rulers and High Lords of Koretia and Emor, as well as the Chara's clerk. That chamber . . ." My voice trailed off. 

Still Andrew did not look up. "A document was found here – an ancient portion of the Chara's law. Later it was stored in the documents room of the Chara's clerk. I read the document five years ago, when spying in the documents room. The Chara Peter hadn't intended that anyone besides himself and his clerk and Lord Carle should ever know of that document." 

"Why?" 

"What did you see at the end of the passage?" he countered. 

"A chamber," I replied slowly. And then, yet more slowly, "A chapel. It had an altar, directly below the smoke-hole." 

Andrew nodded, nudging a bit of peat with his boot. "I told you that the scholars had speculated that the early Emorians worshipped the Lawgiver as a god. There was no proof of that until this sacrificial chapel was discovered. It was the original courtroom of the Charas, as described in later writings – but those writings had not revealed that the courtroom featured an altar. Even after this discovery, the Chara and his High Lord might have denied the truth of what took place there, except for the document that was found in the courtroom." 

"It spoke of the Lawgiver as a god?" 

"Not in so many words, but it echoed the language found in ancient Koretian and Daxion writings. So it seems that, in those early years before our three lands were divided from one another, our peoples had a great deal more in common." 

I thought about this. The music was too faint for me to hear now, and I could not hear anything around me: not above us, on the main floor of the palace, and not in any of the remainder of the slave-quarters. 

Andrew continued to stare at the fire. 

"Andrew," I said, "you're oath-bound not to tell anyone of this place. Why have you brought me here?" 

He did not speak. All his concentration was placed upon the fire, as though his spirit lay there. It was left to me to retrace our long-ago conversation and to remember that Andrew's oath permitted him to tell one person. 

It was then that I realized our conversation in the punishment cell had made a difference after all. 

I must have made a sound. He looked up finally, and I saw what I suppose few other people in the world had ever seen: the Koretian Ambassador's expression of fear. 

Having found the courage to look up, he did not hesitate. He walked over to me and stood staring down at me. I could see the sweat on his forehead. 

I slipped my hands onto his shoulders. He closed his eyes then, as though my touch had caused him as much pain as it would if I touched Perry. When his eyes opened again, his expression had turned from fear to determination. 

He placed his hands on my shoulders and began to sing me his Marriage Oath. 

He sang in his true voice. 

It was the voice, I knew, that no one had heard for thirty years. It was the voice he had hidden even from his blood brother after he chose to act as though he were a normal man. It was the voice that had caused him to fear the power of the Song Spirit. 

It was not a woman's voice. Nor was it a boy's. It soared with the sweet height of a woman, and it held the purity of a boy. But it was neither: it held the force and strength of a man. 

For nearly four decades, I had listened to the finest bards in the world sing in my father's Great Hall. Even barbarian singers, eager to test themselves against an audience that would appreciate their nuances, would find their way to Daxis's royal hall. In all those four decades, I had never heard such a voice as this. 

So absorbed was I in listening that I forgot the words being sung. It was the entrance of pain into Andrew's eyes that alerted me to the fact that I had missed my cue. His song had passed the point at which I was supposed to join in, if I accepted his oath; as far as he knew, I had rejected his pledge. 

And yet, unlike the Prince, he did not stop. He continued to sing me his oath, pledging me his love, with no hope of receiving my love in return. 

I waited until he reached the end of the cycle, and then I joined my voice with his. 

After we were through, we were both silent a long time, staring into each other's eyes. Andrew's expression had turned unreadable again. Finally he spoke the words that, I supposed, went to the heart of the matter for him. 

"How do you think of me now?" he asked. 

I could not tell what sort of answer he was hoping for, or dreading. His face was as blank as the god-mask of the Unknowable God. And so, not knowing what he wished me to say, I gave him the truth. "You sound like a god/dess." 

Pain shot through me as Andrew's hands on my shoulders involuntarily tightened. For a moment, the pain was so intense that it blurred my vision. Then, coming to myself again, I saw that Andrew was smiling down at me. 

He bent his head toward mine. After that, there was no talk of which of us was the woman and which the man, for we were one.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Beta readers:_ Katharine, [hpfan12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpfan12/), and [Kathleen Livingston](http://www.freelance-proofreaders.com/freelancers/kathleen-livingston.htm).
> 
> [Publication history](http://duskpeterson.com/cvhep.htm#settlement).
> 
> This story was originally published at [duskpeterson.com](http://duskpeterson.com). The story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Copyright © 2019, 2020 Dusk Peterson. Permission is granted for fanworks inspired by this story. Please credit Dusk Peterson and duskpeterson.com for the original story.


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